PRAISE FOR BETWIXT

“Magically delicious! Darynda Jones knocks it out of the park

with Betwixt. If you love Charley, you’re going to be be
obsessed with Defiance. Hilarious, heartwarming and oh so
addictive.”
-Robyn Peterman ~ NYT and USA Today Bestselling
Author

"Darynda Jones brings her original style to paranormal

women's fiction, and I for one couldn't be happier. Also,
maybe be wary of inheriting from strangers...or not. Go get
this book!"
—Michelle M. Pillow, New York Times and USA Today
Bestselling Author of the Warlocks MacGregor series

"Betwixt takes readers on a heartwarming, spellbinding

journey packed full of intrigue. Ms. Jones has outdone herself
with this gem."
-Mandy M. Roth, NY Times & USA TODAY Bestselling
Author
BETWIXT
BETWIXT & BETWEEN BOOK ONE
DARYNDA JONES
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events
portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously.

BETWIXT: A PARANORMAL WOMEN’S FICTION NOVEL

(BETWIXT & BETWEEN BOOK 1)

© 2020 by Darynda Jones

Excerpt from A Bad Day for Sunshine copyright © 2020 by Darynda Jones

Cover design © 2020 by TheCoverCollection

ISBN 10: 1-7343852-1-9

ISBN 13: 978-1-7343852-1-2

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a
portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without
permission in writing from the author. This book may not be resold or uploaded
for distribution to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

www.DaryndaJones.com

Available in ebook, print, and audio editions

Created with Vellum
For those of you who, like me, still believe in magic
even though we’re of a certain age.
Stay fierce.
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
THANK YOU!!!
Also by Darynda Jones
PWF PAL PIMPING
More Paranormal Women’s Fiction
Acknowledgments
About the Author
 ONE

There are two kinds of people in the world:

those who believe in magic
and those who are wrong.

I pulled to a stop in front of a sprawling mansion, checked

the address the lawyer gave me, then glanced at the mansion
again, even more confused than I’d been when I first got the
call. No way was this legit. I looked at the numbers on the
massive white columns and compared them to the numbers
I’d scribbled on a hot pink sticky note. Perfect match. It was
one thing for a complete stranger to bequeath me a house. It
was quite another for that house to look like a red brick
version of Tara from Gone with the Wind.
I turned my head to look at the street sign one more time,
making sure it said Chestnut, then I checked the address for
a third time. Still a perfect match. Maybe I heard it wrong. Or
wrote it down wrong. Or I’d entered the Twilight Zone. As I
sat steeping in a light marinade of seasonal herbs and
bewilderment, weighing my options—medication,
electroshock therapy, exorcism—an urgent knock sounded
on the window of my vintage mint green Volkswagen Beetle,
a.k.a., the bug. I jumped in response, the movement quite
possibly dislocating a rib.
A feminine voice shrieked at me as though the barrier
between us was a concrete wall instead of a piece of glass.
“Ms. Dayne?”
I put an arm around my ribcage to protect it from any
further damage and turned to the panic-stricken woman
enveloped from head to toe in neon purple.
“Hi!” she shouted.
Seriously, every article of clothing she wore—beret, scarf,
wool coat, knitted mittens—were all a shade of purple so
bright my pupils had to adjust.
“Are you Ms. Dayne?”
And I liked purple. Really, I did. Just not a shade so bright
it watered my eyes. Not unlike pepper spray. Or napalm.
I cracked the window and gave a cautious, “Mrs.
Richter?”
The woman shoved her mitted hand into the narrow
opening I’d created. “So nice to meet you. What do you
think?”
I took her hand a microsecond before she snatched it back
and stepped to the side to allow me to exit.
Mrs. Richter, a woman only a couple of years older than
my own forty-four years of hard labor with little reward,
hurried to the hood of the bug and pulled a stack of papers
from a manila envelope. A stack of papers that probably
needed my signature.
A needlelike cramp tightened the muscles in my stomach.
This was all happening too fast. Much like my life of late.
After the first wave of pain subsided—the same pain I’d
been having for months now—I pushed a wind-blown lock
of black hair over my ear and followed her.
“Mrs. Richter, I don’t understand any of this. Why would
someone I don’t know leave me a house? Especially one that
looks straight out of Architectural Digest.”
“What?” She glanced up from her task of wrangling the
paperwork in the icy wind and let her gaze bounce from the
house to me then back to the house. “Oh, heavens. I’m so
sorry. Mrs. Goode didn’t leave you this house. I just wanted to
meet here because her house is, well—” She cleared her
throat and tried to tame a strand of blond hair that whipped
across her forehead. “It’s persnickety.”
Relief flooded every cell in my body. Either that or the
Adderall I’d had in lieu of breakfast was finally kicking in.
Still, how in the Sam Spade could a house be persnickety?
Deciding that was a question for another day, I released a
breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “That’s actually a bit
of a weight o my shoulders. There’s no way I could a ord
the taxes and insurance on this place, much less the
upkeep.”
“Oh, well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Somehow the
taxes on Percival are stuck in the fifties. Cheapest on the
block, but you didn’t hear that from me. Also, there’s the
money that Mrs. Goode—”
“Percival?”
She leaned into the bone-chilling breeze, and whispered,
“The house.”
I whispered back, “The house is named Percival?”
“Yes.” She stopped as though startled, then said, “My
goodness, your eyes are beautiful.”
“Thank you. Did you say the house is named—?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade of blue before.”
“Oh. Um, thanks?”
“You’re welcome. Can you sign here, please?” She
recovered and pointed to a highlighted spot on the first of
many, many pages, clearly in a hurry to get on with it.
I eyed the paper with a suspicion born of far too many
deceptive relationships. “How about we go inside and talk
about this?”
Her face, a face that had been rosy not thirty seconds
earlier, paled at my suggestion. She backed away as though
I’d just told her I was going to murder her and keep her heart
in a jar on my desk.
I would never do such a thing. I’d keep it in a jar in the
cupboard. I wasn’t morbid.
“Inside?” She clasped the papers to her chest and took
another step back. “You mean, inside Percival?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Sure. Is he, maybe, around here
somewhere?”
Her hazel irises glazed over despite the wind whipping
her blond bob around her head, beret be damned, and her
gaze traveled across the street to land on a structure there.
Mine followed.
Towering between two gorgeous houses that were almost
as majestic as the one I’d parked in front of sat a huge,
crumbling abode. It was gorgeous and grotesque and
mesmerizing and I was certain I’d seen it in a horror movie.
Or five.
And I was lost.
Percival was gorgeous. Hauntingly beautiful with ivy-
covered moss green brick and black trim so dark it looked
like wet ink. It sat three stories high. The main section was
round with six black gables that formed a circle. Two bay
windows graced the front on either side of a massive black
door. Another section, square but just as stunning, was
attached on the right of it. A tall iron fence surrounded the
property with a veritable forest from what I could see of the
back.
I didn’t want to just live in Percival. I wanted to marry
him and have his babies.
Mrs. Richter jerked her gaze away from my future ex-
house and back to The Bug where she started fighting the
wind to straighten the papers again.
Percival certainly left an impression. So had the lawyer
who’d insisted over the phone that I drive all the way from
Arizona—mostly because a last-minute plane ticket cost
more than my car—to the infamous town of Salem,
Massachusetts—a town I’d never visited—so that she could
sign over a house that a woman—a woman I’d never met—
left to me. And because I was recently divorced, utterly
bankrupt, and just desperate enough to fall for even the most
hairbrained scheme, I did it.
Thank God that nice Prince from Algiers who kept
promising to send me a million dollars for a small
processing fee hadn’t called again. I would probably have
fallen for that as well.
Instead, I was standing in one of the most famous towns
in history, in one of the most beautiful neighborhoods I’d
ever seen, on one of the iciest days I’d ever felt, talking to
one of the strangest women I’d ever met. And I’d met some
strange ones. No shortage of those in the A-Z.
“Was it on fire at some point?” I noticed a section of the
brick was darker as though it had once been covered in
smoke. When I didn’t get an answer, I finally took note of
Mrs. Richter’s pallor which, even in the frigid wind, was
bluer than it should have been. “Mrs. Richter, are you okay?”
Keeping her back to Percival, she straightened her
shoulders, and said, “It doesn’t like me looking at it.”
I glanced back at the house. “Percival?”
“Yes. Like I said, it’s very persnickety.”
Before I could comment, a gust of wind blew several
sheets of papers out of her hand.
A high-pitch shriek I didn’t know was humanly possible
erupted out of her small frame. She bolted forward and
chased them down a street dampened with morning dew and
fog, all the while screaming, “Oh, God no! Please, God no!”
 I did the same, minus the screams. Girl had spunk. Sure
she was a mess of frazzled nerves, and it was apparently all
Percival’s fault, but she could move when she had to.
We zigzagged down the street, lunging after this page or
that, and all I could think about was the fact that I hadn’t
run this much since Brad Fitzpatrick chased me into the
boy’s locker room in the seventh grade. Also, the fact that we
had to look ridiculous.
Mostly the fact that we had to look ridiculous.
Just when I felt a page land between my fingers, it would
slip away with the next gust. That was pretty much the
process for a good three minutes until the wind started
spinning around us. It created a tiny vortex, a whirlwind
circling us, and the papers flew inside of it long enough for
us to finally grab them. It continued until we had every last
one.
My hair would never be the same, but I couldn’t have Mrs.
Richter stroking out mere minutes after we met. At our age,
that was a real possibility.
By the time we got back to the bug, each of us looking like
we’d just come o a drunken bender, I felt so bad for the
woman I did the unthinkable. I signed. Every. Single. Page.
That is, after she proved there were no liens on the house, no
back taxes. Basically, there was no catch.
No catch.
I didn’t get it. There had to be a catch. How could there
not be?
I held fast to the knowledge that I would have three days
to call all of this o . Wasn’t there a law to that e ect? I
would have three days to back out of the deal, no questions
asked?
Then I could go back to my shambolic, bankrupt, nigh
homeless life since I was currently being evicted from my
apartment. I could feel confident in the fact that I did not
owe a fortune on a money pit that was going to take me for
every cent I didn’t have, no matter how alluring said money
pit was.
I couldn’t believe that at more than four decades on this
earth I was an almost homeless has-been. My ex saw to that.
Or, well, his mother saw to it. Erina Julson was the most
heartless, conniving woman I’d ever met, and still I married
her son.
I thought he was di erent. I thought she no longer had
any influence over him. I thought we were in love. I thought
wrong. On all counts. They took me for everything I had and
then some.
And Annette, my BFF, wondered why I had trust issues.
Yet here I was, possibly making the second biggest
mistake of my life. I only had my honor left. My word. My
reputation. If I failed again, I wouldn’t even have that. Yet I
signed.
Thankfully, the more I signed, the more the wind calmed
around us. By the time I handed her back the stack of papers,
the neighborhood was as serene as a glass lake.
After replacing the documents in the envelope, she
shoved her card toward me with a shaking hand. “Here’s my
information if you need anything.”
I studied it with a mixture of confusion and skepticism.
“The number is blacked out.”
“Yes, that’s right. Please don’t call.” She stu ed the
envelope into her oversized purse, then added, “Ever.” She
started backing toward her car.
“What if I have questions? Do I just go by your o ce?”
“No!” She cleared her throat and began again. “I mean, of
course. Though I really have no further information on the
house itself. I can’t imagine why you’d need to.”
Damn it. There was a catch. There had to be. “Wait!” I
called out to her as she sprinted to a parked purple crossover
down the street.
She waved a hand. “My assistant will bring by a copy of
the paperwork this afternoon!” Then she dove inside her car
and floored it, spinning the front tires in her e ort to leave
Percival—and me—in her rearview as quickly as possible.
I didn’t even know they made purple crossovers.
I glanced at the zippered bag she’d handed me
somewhere between the tornado and her nickel-slick
getaway, wondering once again if I’d just made the biggest
mistake of my life.
She’d had no answers for me over the phone and
apparently that hadn’t changed.
“I don’t understand,” I’d told her when she called three
days ago. “Someone left me a house?”
“Yes. Free and clear. It’s all yours. Mrs. Goode left explicit
instructions in her will and I promised her—”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know a Ruthie Goode. There must be a
mistake.”
“She said you’d say that.”
“Mrs. Richter, people don’t just leave strangers houses.”
“She said you’d say that, too.”
“Not to mention the fact that I live in Arizona. I’ve never
even been to Massachusetts.”
“And that. I don’t know what to tell you, sweetheart. Mrs.
Goode left very detailed instructions. You must accept the
house in person within the next seventy-two hours to take
possession. Either way, it cannot be sold to anyone else for a
year. If you don’t take it, it’ll just sit there, abandoned and
vulnerable.”
Abandoned and vulnerable. No words in the English
language made me more uncomfortable.
Three days.
Well, maybe syphilis.
I had three days to decide.
 And moist.
I turned to the abode known as Percival, took another
good look at what a woman I’d never met named Ruthie
Goode left me, then climbed back into the bug and pulled her
into Percival’s driveway.
My life had been punctuated by the strange and
unexplained. I was flypaper for what others called the weird.
Countless friends and coworkers had remarked on the fact
that if there was an unstable sentient being within a ten-
mile radius, it would find its way to me eventually. Dog. Cat.
Woman. Man. Iguana.
I once had to track down the parents of a toddler who
thought I was her dead aunt Lucille. An aunt she’d never
met, according to the aforementioned procreators.
Everyone called these admirers, for lack of a better term,
weird. I called them charming. Quirky. Eccentric.
This, however, took the raspberry covered chocolate
cheesecake. I’d only been bequeathed one other item from a
departed member of society, and that was when Greg
Sanchez handed me his half-eaten ice cream cone seconds
before falling into a volcano.
That field trip did not end well.
I grabbed my overnight bag and paused again to get a
better look at Percival.
He was already growing on me, damn him. I had a thing
for the broody ones. The dark ones with deep, invisible scars
who looked like they’d fought a thousand battles. Percival
definitely fit the bill.
Filling my lungs with crisp New England air, air that held
the smoky scent of wood burning from hearths nearby, I
stepped to Percy’s front door, took the key out of the
zippered bag Mrs. Richter had given me, and entered.
I stopped just inside the foyer so Percy and I could chat.
“Okay, Percy,” I said aloud, only feeling a little silly. “Do you
mind if I call you Percy?” I let my eyes adjust to the dimness
inside the house. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
Of course, the moment I said that, a black cat, who looked
like it had been through a few battles itself, rushed past my
ankles and leapt up the stairs as though its tail were on fire. I
let out a squeak that could summon a pod of dolphins and
hurried to close the door before any other creatures of the
forest decided to join us.
Then I turned to get the full e ect of what Percy had to
o er.
Even though Mrs. Goode had passed only three days prior,
someone had thoughtfully covered the furniture with white
sheets. Yet every surface was covered in dust and a legion of
spiders had set up shop in the corners and along the walls, if
their silvery snares were any indication. It made the house
even eerier.
Floorboards squeaked as I took in the dusty wood floors
and deep gray walls. Even the ceilings were covered with the
charcoal color, including the decorative crown moldings and
graceful, spider-webbed arches.
I took a careful step closer to the great room. It was huge
with identical staircases on either side leading up to a
common landing. Though the sheen may have worn o him,
Percival had been stunningly glamorous in his time. A good
scrubbing and a few hundred gallons of paint and who knew
what he could be again.
Walking inside this monolith was like nothing I’d ever
felt before. A rush of adrenaline slid through me, leaving no
cell untouched. A lulling calmness followed. Along with a
sense of nostalgia, which made no sense. I would’ve
remembered something this lonely and beautiful, and I’d
never set foot outside of Arizona before three days ago.
Percy felt it too. After an initial shudder of distrust, he
seemed to settle around me like a warm cloak. A really warm
cloak.
I realized he was hot. Too hot, especially since no one
besides Mrs. Goode had lived here, according to the purple
people eater. The house should be empty. Who kept the heat
on?
My phone rang, the tinny sound out of place in such a
marvelous tribute to days gone by.
I pressed the green dot and answered with a, “You are not
going to believe this place.”
My bestie ignored me. “What I can’t believe is the fact
that your rust bucket of a vehicle made it.”
Annette Osmund had been my best friend since we’d
taken Coach Teague’s intro to biology in high school
together. It was her mop of curly brown hair and red cat-eye
glasses that initially drew me to her. It was her bizarre
oxymoronic personality—irreverent yet warm—that’d kept
me coming back for more. We’d had an instant connection,
as though our souls knew we would still be best friends over
twenty-five years later.
I walked into a side room. A room my predecessor might
call a sitting room or a drawing room. I’d read enough
historical romance novels to be downright giddy, the
emotion racing along my spine and sparking out to my
fingertips.
“Rust bucket?” I asked, appalled. “You mean my vintage
mint green Volkswagen Beetle?”
“Stop.”
I stifled a giggle. “What? Do you have something against
my vintage mint green Volkswagen Beetle?”
“I’m not kidding.”
“You don’t respect her. What has my vintage mint green
Volkswagen Beetle ever done to you?”
“I swear to God, Dephne, if you say vintage mint green
Volkswagen Beetle one more time.”
 “Vintage mint green Volkswagen Beetle one more time.
When does your plane land?”
“Never. I’m abandoning you in your hour of need.”
I stopped short, my fingertips lingering on a delicately
carved piece of molding. “You know you can be replaced.”
She snorted. “No, I can’t.”
“I have other people in my life.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Several of whom could easily be promoted to sidekick.”
“Not true.”
“You hold that position very precariously.”
“No— Okay, that’s quite likely.”
I did a 360, dizzy with joy and inspiration and a sickly
sense of dread. Even if I could keep the house, I could never
a ord to give it the attention it so desperately needed. It
simply wasn’t meant to be.
“This house is gorgeous, Nette. It’s ancient and dank and
dusty, yet it has so much potential.”
“Like your vagina?”
“What’s strange is that, even though Mrs. Goode only
passed away three days ago, it’s like no one has entered it in
years.”
“Oh, then it’s exactly like your vagina.”
She spoke softly to her barista as I walked through a maze
of connecting rooms. I ended up in an industrial kitchen.
Part of it was so outdated, it was downright historical. The
other part of it looked brand new with appliances I would
have killed for in my restaurant. It was an odd mix of old and
new and every inch of it was wonderful.
“I’ll have you know,” I said, when she came back online,
“my vagina has been entered many times over the years.” I
stopped to get a better look at a woodburning stove that
clearly hadn’t been used in years. I’d never seen one in real
life.
 “Mmm-hmm.”
“Many, many times.”
“So has my Barbie Dreamhouse.”
I gasped, appalled. “Are you comparing my vagina to your
Barbie Dreamhouse?”
“Pretty much. Both are about as useful in the real world.”
My vagina had never been so insulted in her entire
vaginal life. “She has been entered plenty. More times than
the Taj Mahal.”
“Good to know.”
“More times than the US.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
I gestured wildly, pointing at nothing in particular. “My
vagina has been entered more times than a Kardashian’s pin
number.”
“Keep talking, Snow White.”
Oh, that was the last straw. “Listen here, Miss My-Love-
Life’s-Better-Than-Yours. A plethora of men have entered
my vagina. Dozens. Possibly hundreds.” My voice rose with
each syllable. “Many a warrior has stormed these gates and
come back the better man for it. Don’t even think about
worrying your pretty little head about my special place. What
you should be worrying about is—”
I stopped talking the moment I turned and spotted a tall,
shirtless man with more ink than the New York Times
standing in, purportedly, my kitchen. He was drying his
hands on a towel, staring me down. Much like I was doing to
him. Minus the towel.
 TWO

Guys,
gray in the beard is sexy.
Leave it alone.
-Grown Ass Women

In all honesty, I had about a thousand more reasons to stare

than he did. He was unkempt and scru y and startlingly
handsome. The kind of handsome that forces perusers to
pause on a page in a magazine while absently thumbing
through it. As though they had no choice. As though the glint
in his eyes had demanded their attention.
In a word, he was stunning. Because nothing short of
stunning would give me pause in this particular situation. I
had never, in all of my forty-plus years, thought a possible
intruder handsome. The mind didn’t work that way. If it did,
survival of the fittest would be a moot point. All of Darwin’s
work for naught.
Then again, it could have been the kilt.
I absorbed every aspect of the man in a matter of seconds.
Dark red hair streaked with gold brushed shoulders wide
enough to carry the world. A short beard, only a shade
lighter than his hair and tinted with a silvery-gray, framed a
perfectly formed face. A lean body, clearly sculpted by
Michelangelo, stood solid and unabashed.
And then, of course, the kilt.
Holy mother of God. It was made of a dark, thin leather,
the jagged edges coming to a stop at mid-calf, a few inches
above a pair of work boots.
Add to that the fact that he’d been bathed in ink, and I
was a goner. Full sleeves. Stenciled hands. Archaic symbols
cropping up one side of his neck.
But the pièce de résistance was a giant black and gray
skull that spanned the entire length of his torso, its dark
eyes almost as penetrating as the man’s olive-green ones.
The same ones that shimmered beneath dark lashes as he
studied me.
After an eternity of two distinct emotions battling for
dominion—fear and utter, soul-crushing humiliation due to
the vagina monologue—fear won out.
It usually did.
I grabbed a wedge of wood o the stove and jabbed it
toward him. “Stay back! I have 9-1-1 on the phone.”
An easy grin lifted one corner of his mouth, the slow
movement almost dropping me. “Discussing your special
place?” he asked with a voice straight out of an aged bottle of
bourbon.
My stomach flip-flopped, even though now was not the
time for acrobatics. Now was the time for stealth. For wile
and cunning. I had to prepare to fight him. Or run.
Probably run.
I blinked, my mind racing to come up with a plausible
explanation as to why I would be talking to the cops about
my vagina. A justification that would convince this heathen
intruder I had 5-0 mere seconds away.
I stabbed him with my best glare and said, “Y—yes.”
 That’d do it.
He’d be hightailing it out of here any moment now.
He continued to wipe his hands on the towel, his gaze
never wavering from mine.
Any moment.
Instead, he spoke again. His voice disarmingly similar to
the butterscotch whiskey my dads made the summer I
turned twenty-one. Sweet and rich and so intoxicating I
vomited for two days. I realized later they were using
aversion therapy. It didn’t work.
He gestured toward my hand with a nod. “That’s not what
you think it is.”
I frowned at him, not sure what he meant until he looked
at the wedge of wood I’d been holding onto for dear life.
Realization dawned and I dropped it in horror before
examining my hand like it had just been exposed to Ebola,
careful to keep it away from the rest of me.
Where was my hazmat suit when I needed it?
I fought my gag reflex as I scanned the room in a frenzied
panic, hoping to find a bottle of dish soap. Or bleach. Or
battery acid.
“It’s still not what you think it is,” he said with a soft
chuckle.
Oh, thank God. I calmed and dropped my hand. “Then
what—?”
“Co ee?”
That was co ee? I looked at the briquette I just dropped.
“I didn’t know co ee would do that.”
He turned to get a burnt umber T-shirt that lay atop a
small breakfast table, and I got a good look at the tattoos on
his shoulders and back. A large symbol rested on his spine,
like something from an ancient language. It sat
superimposed on a map I recognized immediately because
I’d been studying the town at night when I’d stop to get
what little sleep I could in my car. It was an early map of
Salem, most likely drawn around the 1600s.
It was the symbol that called to me, however. Drew me
closer, and I took an involuntary step toward him. Though I
recognized it, its meaning lay hidden behind a thick curtain.
Like a word that rested on the tip of my tongue and refused
to fully form.
Unfortunately, he made quick work of donning the T-
shirt. The hem settled softly around his kilt-clad hips, an
inch above the swell of what promised to be a rock-hard ass.
I came to the realization that I’d never been so attracted to a
man in my life.
I dragged my gaze down to his left leg before I did
something we’d both regret. Just above the boot, a scar
snaked up from underneath the top, and I wondered what
had happened to him.
When he took two cups down from a cabinet, I realized
there was a co ee pot not ten feet away from me.
“Oh, right. Co ee.”
“Would you like a cup?”
Before I could answer, I heard a screeching sound coming
from my phone and almost dropped it trying to get it back to
my ear. “Sorry . . . o cer. It’s okay. I thought there was an
intruder.”
There was an intruder, but he’d o ered me co ee, so we
were practically besties.
“Intruder my ass,” Annette said. “He sounds hot. What
does he look like?”
“I couldn’t possibly say at the moment, but thank you for
your call.”
“Oh, come on. Give me a hint.”
“I’ll be sure to send in my donation to the Policemen’s
None of Your Business Foundation.”
“Don’t you even think about hanging up on—”
 I ended the call and turned back to Ginger Spice. Ca eine
normally calmed me down. Ever since I got the call about the
house, however, nothing seemed to work. I’d been running
on all cylinders for three days.
“I would love some. My first three cups don’t seem to
have done the trick, but before we exchange friendship
bracelets . . .” I cleared my throat. “Who are you again?”
“Roane.” He turned back to me and held out his hand.
“Roane Wildes. You must be Ms. Dayne.” His hand
swallowed mine a split second before he went back to the
task at hand. There was something about the way he said Ms.
Dayne that sent goose bumps racing over my skin.
“How do you know that?”
He passed me a cup and gestured toward a carton of
cream and a bowl of sugar that sat beside the pot, the bowl
as aged and delicate as the house in which it resided. “Ruthie
told me.”
“Mrs. Goode? You spoke to her?”
“Mrs. Goode?” he asked, as though confused. Then he
corrected himself. “Of course. She told me you didn’t know. I
spoke to her every chance I got. She was a captivating
mixture of class and mystery. I’m sorry for your loss.”
I’d sat down and tore my gaze o him to look out into the
massive wooded backyard. I didn’t want to come across as
creepy. His words startled me. I glanced up at him. “I didn’t
know her.”
He sat down, his face betraying the sadness he clearly felt
at Mrs. Goode’s passing. “I helped her out when I could.
Mostly just fixing this or that. I’m a journeyman. Though she
knew pretty much everyone in town, she didn’t have anyone
to help with the little things.”
“That’s very kind of you. You seem to have been close to
her.”
“I was.”
 “If she only passed a few days ago, why does the house
look like it hasn’t been lived in for months?”
He dipped his head and took a slow sip. “She got sick. She
didn’t have the energy to take care of Percival and mostly
stayed in her room on the second floor.”
He called the house Percival, too. I guess that made it
o cial.
“If I’d known sooner, I would’ve been here to help.” His
face softened as he thought of her.
“Was she—? Were you related?”
“No. Just . . . friends.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It happened so fast, I think I’m still
processing.”
My heart ached for him. “Roane, do you know why she
would leave me the house? I mean, I didn’t know her.
Though, admittedly, I was adopted when I was three. I don’t
remember anything before that. I do know my birth parents
were from Arizona. Were we somehow related?”
“I think I should let her explain.”
I’d started to take another sip but put the cup down again.
“I don’t understand.”
He stood, walked to a jacket that hung on the doorknob to
the backyard, and took an envelope out of the pocket. “She
left this for you.” He walked back and handed it to me. “It
should shed some light onto what’s going on.”
I opened it, my movements wary. I wasn’t sure how much
I wanted to know now that it was all happening. The
envelope contained a note with a URL written on it, the
penmanship beautiful.
“I’m supposed to go here?”
“Yeah. She recorded a message for you before she died.
She didn’t want you to have it unless . . . unless she passed.
It’s on a file at that address.”
 “Thank you.” I stared at the address as though it might
hold all the answers I’d been searching for.
“I feel like I know all about your vagina,” he said,
bringing me back to the present, “but very little about you.”
A heat comparable to a nuclear blast rushed over my skin.
I could only imagine the shades of red I was turning, which
made my face even hotter. “Yeah, sorry about that. I thought
I was alone.”
“Don’t apologize. I enjoyed the conversation.” That grin
reappeared and a wave of heat washed over me again, this
time for a di erent reason.
“It’s really warm in here,” I said, unbuttoning my jacket.
“Which is why I’m working on the furnace today. Percival
can be a jerk.”
Right. He was a journeyman. “Look, about that. I
appreciate your help, but I can’t a ord you right now.”
I couldn’t even a ord a hotel room at the moment. I
hadn’t been this broke since my ramen-noodle college days.
I didn’t want to call my dads, to drag them into the quagmire
that was my life. I’d made my bed. Unfortunately, it had been
with a thieving snake. An imposter who’d convinced me I
could have my happily ever after if I just signed my name
here. And here. Oh, and here.
I tried giving up signing my name on anything ever again.
Unfortunately, the world didn’t work that way.
“Not a problem,” Roane said. “I’m all paid up.”
He stood. “Ruthie’s room is upstairs on the second floor,
first room on the right. The sheets are clean and the water is
hot. You look like you could use some rest.”
I cringed. “That bad, huh?” I hadn’t showered in three
days. Apparently, it showed.
Roane shook his head. “Bad is not the word I’d use.”
Remembering the creature that’d slipped past me, I said,
“Oh, there’s a cat.”
 “Yeah, sorry about that. His name is Ink. Short for
Incognito.”
“He was Ruthie’s?”
“No, he’s mine. Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell
anyone. He causes more trouble in the neighborhood than a
gang of rabid raccoons. Also, he hates everyone, so you
shouldn’t see him much. If you do, just kick him out.”
“Does he have food here? Just in case?”
An easy smile slid across his face. “He’ll be fine.”
After o ering to help me get settled, which I declined,
Roane went back to work and I brought my bag inside. I took
the stairs to the second floor and looked out over the balcony
into the foyer. This place was breathtaking.
Though I loathed the thought of sleeping in Ruthie’s
room, apparently it was the only one with an actual bed. The
other rooms, all thirteen of them, were empty. Annette
would have to sleep with me when she arrived in the
morning. For now, I just wanted a shower. Sleep could wait,
even though I’d hardly gotten any for the last three days.
Every time I closed my lids, I dreamed of wolves.
A wolf, actually.
I would only catch glimpses of the beautiful creature. Red
with a black undercoat. Because of that, sleep had been
evasive.
The room, like the rest of the house, had rich, black walls
and floor-to-ceiling windows. The bathroom, however, was
bright. Light gray wallpaper and white fixtures with a claw-
foot tub that called my name like a siren in the night. Not a
police siren either.
After an incredible shower, I crawled onto Ruthie’s four-
poster bed, fought the urge to dive under the blankets, and
opened my laptop. I searched the Wi-Fi options, assuming
I’d have to use the hotspot on my phone. But one name on
the network caught my eye: Defiance.
 I clicked on it and was connected instantly. Did Ruthie
know I would come? Was she that confident I’d show? Of
course, the words free house would probably lure someone in
WITSEC out of hiding.
I typed in the URL. A box popped up asking me if I wanted
to download the file. Figuring I had nothing else to lose, I
said yes just as my stomach growled.
I double-clicked on the file, fully prepared to lose my
entire life as I’d likely just downloaded a virus, and watched
as several folders loaded. One in particular captured my
attention. Just like the connection, it was named Defiance. I
clicked on it and a video popped onto the screen.
A woman with shoulder-length blond hair appeared. I
instantly hit pause. A solid white background did nothing to
indicate where she was and I had no idea if she’d filmed the
video three days ago or three years.
The woman I’d assumed was Ruthie Goode was so much
more elegant than I’d imagined she would be. I hadn’t
known what to expect, but a disposition born of nobility had
not been it.
It was the tilt of her chin. The firmness of her mouth. The
confidence in her eyes. She was poise and grace and she was
beautiful.
Seriously, was everything in this town stunning? Percival.
Roane. And now Ruthie Goode.
The cat jumped on the bed just then, proving my theory
wrong, and sauntered his way toward me as though doing
me a favor. Ink may not have been as stunningly gorgeous as
the aforementioned, but even he had a certain scru y charm.
A street-hardened charisma.
Like much of the house, he was black, only he had tufts of
hair missing and a scar across his face. Part of one ear was
gone and his olive-green irises were relaxed yet alert. I got
the feeling he didn’t miss much.
 “You’ve seen more than your fair share of battles, haven’t
you, mister?”
I scratched his ears, mostly because he let me, and clicked
play again.
Ruthie blinked at the screen as though surprised, cleared
her throat, and began. “Defiance,” she said, her voice husky
like a lounge singer in a smoke-filled bar. “You don’t know
me. I’m your grandmother.”
I sucked in a soft breath. I’d always wondered about my
heritage. Where I’d come from. What my biological parents
had been like. And now, after all these years, it seemed like I
would finally get some answers. Suddenly, I was ten again,
questioning where I’d come from. Hoping to have been
loved. Praying I hadn’t been discarded like yesterday’s paper.
but cherished. Given up for a good reason.
“It’s a long story,” she continued, her eyes glistening
with moisture, “and I know you have questions, there are
just some things we have to do before we can get to that. For
now, I’ll just say that . . . your mother died when you were
three.”
No. A hand covered my mouth as something inside me
broke. A dream. A childish fantasy I’d had since I was a little
girl. If Mrs. Goode were to be believed, I would never get to
meet the woman who bore me. The woman whom I always
believed had let me go. She’d had no other choice.
“I’m sorry that you’re learning of her death this way. I
wanted to find you. To tell you everything and bring you
home, but I made a promise, and I’ve done everything in my
power to keep it.”
A promise? What kind of promise would keep a
grandmother from seeking out her granddaughter?
“As far as your father goes, your mother never told me
his name. I have no idea who he was.”
 Wow. I couldn’t decide if I was disappointed or elated. He
could still be alive. He could still be out there, but if no
records of him existed, there was no way I could find him.
I hit pause again and studied her. My grandmother. She
had Prussian blue eyes like mine. That was the only
resemblance I could find as my hair was as dark as the walls
around me and grace lived in a land far, far away.
My stomach growled again. I needed food and rest and
time to process everything. I closed my laptop and went in
search of Roane. To my surprise, Ink followed me, keeping a
safe distance away from my feet. I knew he was smart.
After calling out for Roane and searching for him
throughout Percival’s exquisite entirety, I decided to order
enough pizza for him in case he showed up again. And how
could I not order it from The Flying Saucer Pizza Company?
With a name like that, it had to be good. When the doorbell
rang, I thought it was said pizza. It was not. It was Mrs.
Richter’s assistant.
“Hi,” I said when I opened the door. His pallor told me he
was scared of Percival as well. I didn’t get it. Percy had been
so nice to me. Welcoming.
Without uttering a word, the stout man with chubby
cheeks extended his arm to hand me the package, clearly
worried Percy was going to bite.
“Thanks.” I took thick envelope, and asked, “So, I have
three days to back out of all of this, right? I mean, if I change
my mind? Isn’t that, like, a law?”
He took a wary step back and I could see a bead of sweat
forming on his upper lip. “Three days?”
“Yeah. You know. Isn’t there a lemon law or something?”
Another step. “You want to give it back after three days?”
“Okay,” I said, walking onto the porch and closing the
door behind me. “What gives? What’s going on? I mean, it’s
just a house. A gorgeous, elegant house that needs a little
TLC, but a house nonetheless.”
The man backed onto the first step. “Nothing. There’s
nothing wrong with it.”
“Then what? Why is everyone so freaked out about
Percival?”
He took another step down. “Freaked out? Wh—what
makes you say that?”
I gave him my best deadpan. “Seriously?”
Almost stumbling on the next step, he righted himself,
then said, “It’s just, well, you’re not from here. Things have
happened in this house. Strange dinner parties happening at
all hours of the night. Séances. Mass murders.”
“Yeah, we have those in Arizona, too. They’re called
urban legends.”
A nervous chuckled bubbled out of him. “Right. Urban
legend. Well, good luck.”
He turned and speed walked away. It would have been
funny if I hadn’t been so concerned. Strange dinner parties
happening at all hours of the night? No way could I stay here
now. Not with the threat of strange dinner parties happening
at all hours of the night.
Speaking of which, the UberEats girl arrived with the
pizza. I tipped her with my last five, wondering if I should’ve
used that money more wisely. I could not believe it. I was
going to have to borrow a couple hundred bucks from my
dads just to get home unless I made a sale on Etsy lickety-
split. I made custom journals in my spare time, time being a
commodity I seemed to have a lot of lately. Those journals
made me a solid twelve bucks a month. Can’t shake a stick at
that.
After a nasty divorce in which no one besides my ex’s
mother came out ahead, I’d been wallowing in misery at
home, trying to devise a plan of action so I wouldn’t starve
to death, when I got the call from Mrs. Richter.
And here I stood. Pockets empty. Pizza in hand. Cat
around ankles. I’d never owned a cat in my life, but if an ink-
covered journeyman came with him, I could learn to love the
scru y little guy.
Since that journeyman was nowhere to be found and Ink
was trying to summon a demon with all of the meowing he
was doing, obviously wanting the pizza more than I did, I
took it upstairs and we ate on the bed. I could only hope
Ruthie wouldn’t curse me from the grave for getting crumbs
on her deep gray comforter.
While eating, I took out my fine-tooth comb and scoured
the paperwork, looking for any indication that accepting this
house would break me financially. Then I remembered, one
had to actually have finances for them to be broken.
I was no lawyer—though I did represent myself in tra c
court once, #neveragain—but the paperwork looked legit. Of
course, so did the marriage license Lionel Corte presented
me with in the second grade before he proposed. If I’d
known it was fake and we weren’t really married, I wouldn’t
have put him in a sleeper hold. So, in a way, his aversion to
marriage was his own fault.
Like Mrs. Richter said, there didn’t seem to be any liens
or outstanding taxes, but still, a house like this took lots of
dead presidents to maintain. Even more if I was going to
consider restoring it.
My phone rang with a video call. I answered it on my
laptop and waited for my two dads to appear on screen.
“Hey, Dad. Hey, Papi.” To keep them straight, I’d given
them di erent terms of endearment when I was a kid. I
didn’t even realize until later that I’d mixed them up. Dad
was of Latino descent, his skin a rich copper, the angles of
his face sharply defined, while Papi was pure Viking.
 “You were supposed to call us the minute you arrived,
cariña,” Dad said.
“I’m sorry. This has been such a strange day.”
They glanced at each other, their handsome faces lined
with concern.
My dads had been together for almost fifty years and had
been married since Arizona legalized same-sex marriages in
2014. They were more rugged than most straight men. They
also had more women hit on them than most straight men,
especially men of their age. They were like those silver-fox
models in sunglasses ads.
Dad, the older of the two, had silver hair and a cropped,
well-groomed beard to match.
Papi, who was almost ten years Dad’s junior, was still
fighting tooth and nail to keep his dark blond locks dark
blond. Sadly, he’d been losing the battle for years now. We’d
tried to convince him the gray looked good. We had yet to
succeed.
They’d adopted me when I was three, so it wasn’t like I
didn’t have good role models. It wasn’t like I didn’t know the
di erence between a good man and a jerk. Yet I married the
definition of a conniving snake. He’d fooled me completely.
He hadn’t fooled them, though.
“What do you think of the house?” Papi asked. They
seemed nervous. Jumpy.
“I think I can’t keep it. It’s so beautiful. You guys would
love it. I just can’t a ord it.”
“Wait, what about—” He stopped when Dad elbowed him.
With a sti nod, he cleared his throat, and said, “Just sleep
on it, hon. We can help.”
“What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
It didn’t matter. I was tired of worrying. “I can’t keep
coming to you guys every time I need something.”
 “Sweetheart, we’re your dads. That will never change.”
“Speaking of relationships, Mrs. Goode left me a video.
She said she was my grandmother.”
They shifted in their seats, their sudden discomfort
stunning.
“Wait, did you guys know?”
Papi bit down, his chiseled jaw working hard. “Yes,
honey. We did.”
My lungs froze for a solid thirty seconds. I recovered and
asked, “For how long?”
“For a while now,” Dad said in his soft Latino accent. “We
made a promise—”
“You, too? That’s what she said in the video.”
“Cariña, have you watched the whole thing? It will
explain—”
“You even knew about the video? Did you know about the
house before I got the call?”
Another glance at each other told me everything I needed
to know. “We knew your grandmother had planned on
leaving it to you.”
“Did you . . . did you know her?”
“Honey, watch the rest of the video.”
I wanted to feel betrayed. I wanted to feel hurt and bitter
and outraged. I failed. I loved these men so much. I trusted
them implicitly. They would never do anything to hurt me.
Not on purpose anyway.
“Get some rest, honey. Then finish the video. We’ll call
again in the morning.”
“We love you,” Papi said, flashing his killer smile.
“I love you, too.”
We ended the call, and I sat in a state of absolute
astonishment. They’d known. Questions came at me like
bottle rockets, one after another. At least I knew for certain
now.
 A part of me thought Ruthie had the wrong person. It
could happen. A mix-up with the adoption papers. A similar
name and date-of-birth. But my dads knew her. It had to be
legit, and that fact scared me a lot more than it should have.
I looked around. The house was just so beautiful, so dark
and haunting and grim, my heart ached for Percy to be mine.
I closed my laptop and put the papers aside. Then I lay back
onto a down pillow, my hands clasped behind my head as I
studied the ceiling. Ink snuggled beside me, his purr
soothing. My lids grew heavy and I closed them.
“I can weigh my options with my eyes closed,” I said to
Ink. “Just for a minute.” No sooner had I lowered my lids
than another knock sounded at the door.
I startled awake, realizing I must have drifted o after all.
The clock on my phone showed just past seven. I’d slept for
almost four hours.
Ink had disappeared and was hopefully hunting for mice.
Surely this place had mice.
Then I realized why I’d been awakened. Someone was
pounding on my front door. Hard. What the hell? They’d just
have to wait because my bladder would not.
Groggy and disoriented, I stumbled to the bathroom only
to find a man on the floor. I skidded to a halt and looked
down. Roane lay underneath the sink, visible only from the
chest down. But, my God, what a lovely chest it was. And
biceps. And calves. If only the kilt would slip up just a touch.
“Finished?”
I jumped so hard a little pee slipped out. Damn it.
He looked up at me from the ground, a wrench in his
hands.
“Sorry. I was just admiring your kilt.”
“Ah. Do you need the bathroom?”
“I can find another one. There’s like thirty-two in this
house.”
 One corner of his mouth rose. “Seven, actually.”
“Plenty, then. You’re here late.”
His brows slid together, before saying, “Lot to do.”
Understatement of the eon. “I can’t believe this house has
the original toilets.” The tanks were wooden and hung from
the walls with a pull rope to flush. I’d never seen one in real
life. Now I’d get to see seven.
“Getting parts will be di cult, but I know a guy.”
“I love that you know a guy because I don’t. I wouldn’t
even know where to begin to find a guy to know and I’m
going to search out a bathroom before I embarrass myself.”
“Here,” he said with a soft chuckle. He rolled onto his
feet. “I need to get some parts anyway.”
“Oh, can I use the sink?”
“Sure.” He studied me for a few seconds, then added,
“I’ve fixed it temporarily.”
I stared back before coming to my senses. “Great.
Thanks.” He stepped around me to leave. “Oh, have you seen
Ink?”
“Not since he came downstairs with an entire slice of
pizza hanging from his mouth.”
Oops. “Yeah, he was hungry.”
“He’s always hungry.”
He left and it wasn’t until that exact moment that I
realized something a little disturbing. To get to this
bathroom, he had to come into Ruthie’s room. My room. The
one I’d been sleeping in.
I turned in a circle then spotted a cabinet that sat crooked
against the wall.
I stepped to it and pulled. It swung wide, the opening
leading to a finished passageway. A narrow hall that was
softly lit by incandescent lighting.
“No way,” I whispered to myself. A secret passageway.
This was o cially the coolest house I’d ever been in. And it
could be mine for the low, low cost of every cent I made in
the future for upkeep and restoration.
I couldn’t decide if I was happier about the fact that Percy
had secret passageways or that Roane wasn’t a creeper. It
could go either way.
The knock sounded again. I closed the . . . cabinet, made
quick work of the call from nature, washed my hands and
dried them on a small towel as I headed down the stairs.
About the time I got to the door, I realized I hadn’t even
glanced in the mirror.
That was okay. Whoever was knocking was clearly a pain
in the ass.
The knock sounded again just as I turned the knob.
“Yes?” I said, letting my irritation show.
A man about my height with blond hair and square
plastic-framed glasses stood on the other side. “You must be
Ms. Dayne.”
“I must be.” Amazing how many people knew my name
here.
“I’m Donald. Donald Shoemaker. I live down the block.”
He pointed because that would help. “I’m here representing
the North Shore Home Owners Association and the Beautify
Salem Society. We just want you to know that we will no
longer tolerate it. Any of it.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Ms. Dayne, if you don’t take this seriously, we will be
filing a lawsuit this afternoon.”
Damn. I hadn’t even been here a day and I already had a
lawsuit against me? That beat my personal record, but just
barely.
 THREE

MEN: Women are very hard to read.

WOMEN: Actually, we just want—
MEN: Such complex creatures.
WOMEN: If you’d just liste—
MEN: So mysterious.
-Actual Conversation

“Ms. Dayne, we’ve been trying to get Ruthie to do something

about the situation for years.”
I could tell Mr. Donald Shoemaker was going to be an
issue for whomever ended up living here. Sadly, it would
probably not be me, because I loved few things more than
dressing down with the Taylor Dooses of the world.
“She’s repeatedly refused our requests. She even ignored
our registered letters.”
“She didn’t.” I wondered if I should tell Donald about the
co ee stain on his starched baby-blue button-down.
“We at the NSHOA and BSS are certain you’ll be more
levelheaded.”
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” Was it wrong that Donald
reminded me of George McFly?
 “This kind of thing is fine for the tourists in town. Not in
this neighborhood. It’s nice. Our properties are pristine,
while this—” he paused to give Percy a once-over “—
monstrosity gets drearier every year.”
“You don’t say.”
The house trembled beneath our feet and I froze. It was
slight, almost imperceptible, yet definitely there. After a
minute, I asked Don, “Was that an earthquake?”
He took a wary step back and I couldn’t believe I was
going to do this dance again. We didn’t even have music. I
wondered if he would speed walk away like Mrs. Richter’s
assistant had.
Despite the spike of fear in his expression, he
straightened his shoulders and set his jaw.
Attaboy.
“I’m here to see what you plan to do about it.”
Speaking of tourists, I definitely needed to check out the
town before I left. Surely walking around wouldn’t cost me
anything.
When I didn’t answer, he added, “Ms. Dayne? Do you
even have a plan?”
I snapped to attention. Or, well, pretended to. “Oh, sorry.
What was the question?”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “What do you plan to do
about the house now that it’s yours?”
“Right. Well, first, I’m going to a supply store to buy a no
trespassing sign.” I slammed the door and was headed for
the stairs when he knocked again. Seriously, the cojones.
I swung the door open again, my face surely in flames.
“Can you please sign for this letter explaining what the
NSHOA and BSS would like to see done?”
I was about to tell him which cavity he could insert his
letter into when a feminine voice drifted to us. “Oh, for the
love of God, Donald. Get o that woman’s porch.”
 We turned to see a fit middle-aged woman in a running
suit walk up to the iron fence that surrounded the property.
“You stay out of this, Parris!” he shouted back.
That was apparently her cue. She walked through the gate
and stomped toward us. “You’ll have to forgive Donald. He
had a di cult childhood.”
Apparently having lost the battle, Donald tossed the letter
onto Percy’s porch and left in a literal hu .
I grinned at the woman. “I’m Defiance.”
She took my hand. “That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you. Do you live—?”
“Right next door.” She pointed to the house on Percy’s
north side. The white one with more splendor than
Buckingham Palace. “I’m Parris. And that man,” she said,
pointing to a brunette working in the yard of the house on
Percy’s south side, “is my husband, Harris. So, let’s just get
that out of the way. Yes, we are Parris and Harris Hampton.
If you ever need anything, we are literally next door.”
“Thank you. Who lives in that house?” I gestured to the
house where her husband was working. The one with grass
so green and perfectly trimmed it looked like carpet. “And
who does yardwork at seven in the morning?”
“He does. On both counts.”
“Your husband? Oh, I thought you said you lived—”
“I do. I live on your north and Harris lives on your south.”
“Wow. That’s unusual.” Both houses were mansions, and
I wondered what these people did for a living. “You live in
separate houses?”
“Sure do. Which is why we’re both still alive. I love the
man. Really I do. But I’d kill him if I had to live with him
again. We figured separate living quarters would be easier to
explain to the kids than why one of us had to go to prison for
homicide.”
 Harris had walked around the fence and come inside the
gate as well. He stepped onto the porch, both his tan and his
hairline completely fake. “I’m Harris,” he said, holding out
his hand.
I took it. “Nice to meet you.”
He had an easy grin and warm eyes. His wife’s were more
. . . calculating.
“Your grandmother was something else,” he said. “I’m
sorry for your loss.”
How much personal info did one give complete strangers?
And if I gave an inch, would they want to know the whole
mile? Something told me the answer to that was yes. So I
lied. “Thank you. I’m going to miss her.”
“I’m sure.” He gestured toward Percy. “I guess he’s yours
now.”
I almost told them I couldn’t keep Percy. For some
reason, I changed my mind at the last second. They’d find
out soon enough. “I guess. He’s a lot to take in.”
“He is,” Parris said, taking Percy in, too.
I bent to pick up the letter Don had thrown down and
wondered if I’d just picked up the proverbial gauntlet. “I
don’t think Donald likes him.”
She laughed. “That’s okay. Percival doesn’t like Donald
either.”
Did everyone know about Percival’s dark side? His seedy
past?
A car pulled up to the gate. A taxi. After its brakes
squealed it to a stop, a vertically challenged woman with a
mop of curly, chestnut hair and turquoise cat-eye glasses got
out.
“Annette?” My bestie wasn’t supposed to arrive until
tomorrow morning, yet here she was in all her windswept
glory.
 I hurried to greet her as the driver handed her an
overnight bag, a carry-on, a suitcase, two grocery bags and a
huge box. How long was she planning to stay?
“Nette the Jet.”
She turned and beamed at me. “D-Bomb!”
I had no choice. I had to pull her into a hug, mostly
because I knew she’d hate it.
“Yeah, still not a hugger,” she said from the crook of my
shoulder, fake-patting my back.
A giggle slipped past before I let her push o me and hold
me at arm’s length. She did it to get a good look at me. To
assess the situation, as it were. Then her gaze drifted to the
couple lip-locked behind me.
“Hosting orgies already?”
“Oh,” I said, coming to my senses, “this is Parris and
Harris Hampton. The neighbors.”
They unlocked.
“Nice to meet you, Annette,” Parris said. “We’ll be going.
Let you two catch up.”
“Remember,” Harris said, “we are right next door either
way you turn.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“Nice to meet you,” I said to them, before turning back to
Annette. The love of my life. She was busy watching them
walk in two separate directions when I snapped. “Wait, I
thought you couldn’t come until tomorrow. Why didn’t you
call me? I was going to pick you up from the airport.”
She returned her attention to me and blinked. “I don’t get
it.”
“You don’t get what?”
“It is tomorrow.” She looked at her watch. “It’s 7:30 in
the tomorrow morning.”
“The tomorrow morning?” I screeched. I looked at my
watch, too, before remembering I didn’t wear one. “You
mean, I slept all afternoon and all night?”
 “’Parently. That can’t be a good sign.” She leaned in to
study my pupils through her turquoise cat-eyes. “I wouldn’t
plan too far ahead. I see chaos. Turmoil. A fight with a tree
branch that leads to your untimely and violent death.”
Annette was a self-proclaimed expert in all things
supernatural and supposedly psychic. The only thing she’d
predicted accurately was Superbowl of 2013. I never pointed
out the fact that she’d had a 50/50 chance.
“Good to know.”
Last week I was supposed to die from a tragic fall while
trying to stand in a hammock. Who would even do that?
“Dephne,” she said as she picked up the carry-on and
dragged her massive suitcase past me, her voice filled with
awe. “You have to keep this place. Two words. B and B.”
I picked up the box and followed. “Those are letters, and
it would take a crap-ton of money to turn this into a B and B.
Money that I don’t have.”
“Better yet, a boutique hotel. Witch themed. We can hold
séances!” She tried to jump up and down in excitement, but
her load proved a hindrance. She dropped it inside the foyer
then turned a full circle in awe.
I set down the box. “Séances? I guess now’s the time I
should remind you that you aren’t actually psychic.”
She stopped and glared at me. “My powers are emerging.
It takes time.”
“You’ve been trying to contact the dead since we were in
high school.”
“And what makes you think I haven’t succeeded?”
“The fact that you haven’t?”
“Mark my words, I will become one of the most powerful
witches—”
“Now you’re a witch?”
She beamed at me then whirled to examine more of what
Percy had to o er. “I am if we’re staying in Salem.”
 “We?” Excitement prickled along my skin. “Nette, are
you saying you’d come with me? You’d move here?”
She turned to me, her expression full of warmth. “In a
heartbeat. It’s the only way I can get back that fifty bucks
you owe me.”
My expression flatlined. “Of course it is.”
“Now, where’s kilt guy and what in the blistering hell is
that?”
I followed her gaze to Ink. He was sneaking down the
stairs, dragging yet another slice of pizza beside him. “That
is a cat. His name is Ink and he likes me, so be nice.”
“It doesn’t look like a cat.”
“It is.”
“It looks like a mangled ferret.”
“It isn’t.”
“Can it be a cat somewhere else?”
“No.”
“And the guy?”
“He’s upstairs.”
She put her purse on a wing-back, and asked, “Verdict?”
“Okay, you know those scru y men on calendars with
messy shoulder-length hair and insane tat-covered
muscles?”
“Like the back of my hand.”
“He’s that.”
“Dayum.”
“And he knows a lot more than most about my vagina.”
“Way to go, you!”
I shrugged. My phone beeped and I saw the thirty
messages from Annette wondering where I was and why I
wasn’t at the airport and did I understand how much a taxi
was going to cost, so, my bad.
She began gathering up her things again.
“What is all of this?”
 “What? I told you I didn’t travel light.”
“Sorry about the taxi.”
“Please. You clearly needed the sleep.”
My phone beeped again with a notification from Etsy, and
the clouds parted to let the sun shine down on me in
particular.
“Oh, my God. I sold three journals last night! I can a ord
a sandwich! Let’s go to lunch!”
“It’s 7:30 in the morning.”
“Let’s go to breakfast!”

ROANE HAD DISAPPEARED AGAIN, so we took turns

showering while Ink looked on in mild fascination. Or utter
annoyance. It was hard to tell.
“This one-bathroom thing is fun and all,” she said, “but
don’t you have, like, thirty?”
“I have seven. I need to stock the others. Roane is
checking out all the plumbing.”
She snickered. “I bet he is.”
We took the bug to a hotel pub by the water called The
Regatta. Beautifully decorated with dark woods and blue
accents, the pub was clearly a favorite with the locals.
“Welcome to Witch City,” our adorable server said when
she found out we weren’t from the area. She put down our
drinks and left to put in our order.
“Witch City,” Annette said. “How cool is that?”
I felt the history of the town to the marrow of my bones.
Salem was rich and eclectic and full of darkness and light. Of
good and evil. Of pain and sorrow. And a joy born of survival
after a time when hysteria reigned.
The people had sojourned past the tragic events that
made them famous and built a life for themselves. Now,
almost 300 years later, their descendants reaped the
benefits.
Annette looked up from her travel guide, which could
have been how our server knew we weren’t locals. “Did you
know there’s an alley here in Salem that you walk down and
if you know the secret password, you get free bacon?”
“Where’d you get that book?” I asked, a little jealous.
“A bookstore in the airport. It’s over there somewhere.”
She pointed in the general direction of Massachusetts.
“I can’t keep the house,” I blurted, because blurting bad
news was kind of my specialty. Otherwise, I lived in a
constant state of denial. A sadness washed over me with the
confession. “I just don’t have the money.”
“What about the restaurant? It’s doing well, right?”
I’d owned a restaurant in Phoenix called The Papidad,
after my dads. Like everything else I’d owned, I lost it in the
divorce.
“It’s doing great as far as I know.”
Annette stilled. “Wait, you’re kidding me. He got it?”
“More like his mother got it, with his help.”
“Deph, how is that even possible?”
“It was in her name, remember? We needed her to co-
sign to get us started. What I didn’t know is that Kyle put
everything in her name. The restaurant. The house. The cars.
Even the bank accounts. When it came time to split
everything, I basically had nothing to split. Now he has it
all.”
“A good lawyer—”
“Would have cost me a fortune.”
Her face started to blotch, which meant her insides were
way angrier than her outsides were letting on. It was also
why she sucked at poker. “How could you keep this from
me?”
“I didn’t want you to know how incredibly naïve I am.”
 “Not naïve. Just far too trusting.”
“Isn’t that the definition of naïve?”
“If I were a hugger, I’d be on you like green on guacamole
right now.”
That was staying a lot. “Thanks, Nette. It’s the thought
that counts.”
“That’s exactly what I told my credit card company when
my payment was late. What do your dads think? And have
either of them decided to go straight? Because damn.”
I laughed. “No. Sorry. The minute they do, you’ll be the
first to know.”
“What do they think about all of this.”
“It’s my mess, Nette. I didn’t want to bring them into it.”
“So, you let that asshat and his bitch mother take
everything from you instead? You turned that place around.
You added specialized menus for di erent needs. You created
culinary masterpieces other restaurants could only dream of
making. You put nine dimes out of ten back into it. And now
it’s all theirs?”
“Every last inch.”
I could tell the conversation was raising her blood
pressure, which was exactly why I hadn’t told her all the
sordid details. Well, that and pride.
“Sweetheart, how broke are you?”
“Preface that with the word dead, and you’ll nail it.”
The blotchiness disappeared and a bright blush
blossomed across her face. It was born of an anger that ran
deep in that girl. Deep deep. So, so deep. Like Nietzsche dee
—
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell your dads.”
I released a long sigh of defeat. “What could they have
done?”
“Killed your ex and buried his lifeless body in the
Sonoran. Duh.” The mere thought put a dreamy smile on her
face.
“What would I do without you?”
“I can think of lots of things. Go skydiving. Try escargot.
Belly dance, because not in my wildest dreams.”
A male voice interrupted her rant. “Excuse me.”
We looked up in unison, and I watched through my
periphery as Annette melted like ice cream on a sidewalk in
August. A tall, uniformed o cer stood beside our table.
Wide-shouldered and hazel-eyed, he had dark skin and a
kind face and I melted a little, too.
“Hey, Chief,” someone called out to him. He nodded then
turned back to us.
“You must be Defiance,” he said to me.
What the hell? Did everyone know me?
“I am.” I shook his hand. “This is Annette.”
When he o ered her his hand, she took his one into both
of hers, her expression turning grave, her gaze sliding past
him so she could see beyond the veil into another realm.
And we were o .
“I’m Houston Metcalf. Most people just call me Chief, but
please call me Houston.”
“Your aura,” Annette said from the beyond. “You’re kind
and fair. A good o cer of the law. Yet I fear you will lose
yourself if you don’t find true love. Now. Like this very
minute.”
The grin that spread across his face told me he was not
only used to such airheaded declarations, but he was not
buying her aura schtick for a minute. Smart guy.
He took back his hand. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll keep an
eye out.” He winked at me. “Your grandmother told me you
were coming. I’m glad I spotted you.”
“And how did you do that, exactly?”
“Arizona tags.”
 “Right. Those give me away every time. But how did you
know who I was? Like, here in the restaurant?”
He suddenly looked uncomfortable and straightened his
belt. “Buddy in Phoenix PD. He forwarded me the photo from
your license.”
“You could’ve just looked on Facebook” Annette o ered
super helpfully.
He let out a deep laugh. “There is that.” He turned back to
me. “Your grandmother said you were a beauty.”
While I wanted to ask, how? How did she know? Why
didn’t she come find me? I asked instead, “You knew her?”
His mouth thinned and a sadness came over him. “I did.
I’m sorry for your loss.”
That statement, a statement that had seemed so foreign
to me one day ago, was now very much appreciated. It was a
loss. I would never get the chance to know the incomparable
Ruthie Goode. People seemed to either love her or hate her.
No in between. No willy-nilly. I got the feeling she didn’t
hold back much.
“Thank you.”
“Well, I’ll let you finish your breakfast. I just wanted to
introduce myself. Let you know if there’s anything you need,
I’m only a phone call away.” He handed me his card. “Just
not through 9-1-1. Ruthie loved to call me through 9-1-1.”
A soft laugh covered up my awe of the woman. “I
appreciate it.”
He started to walk o , but he turned back. “And, in case
you’re wondering, we’re hoping you stay.”
“We?” I asked, more than a little surprised.
“The town.” He spread his arms, indicating the patrons
of the restaurant, and each and every one of them was
looking at me. It stunned me for a moment. I was not a fan of
attention. Then a few raised their glasses in welcome.
 I’d never seen anything like it nor felt so welcome.
“Thank you,” I said, before ducking my head as a soft heat
infused my cheeks.
“See?” Annette clinked her co ee cup against mine.
“Even Witch City wants you to stay.”
The very thought filled me with a strange, unfamiliar joy.
I knew a ton of people in Phoenix, but I would never have
received such a reception. Not that anyone would. Maybe the
president. No. Not even him. The pope?
A thought popped into my head and I refocused on my
compadre. “I forgot to tell you the best part about Percival.”
“I like all his parts already. This must be good.”
Leaning in, I pasted a wicked grin on my face, and said,
“Two words. Secret passageway.”
Her hand slowly made its way across the table. It covered
mine, and she said softly, “Holy mother of God.”
 FOUR

I’m a co eeholic on the road to recovery.

Just kidding.
I’m on the road to the co ee shop.
-True Story

“This kilt guy. He has a key to the house?” Annette asked

when we got back to Percy and tossed our bags on the sheet-
covered wingback.
“Apparently. And before you say anything, Ruthie trusted
him enough—”
“Oh, no, I don’t care about that. I’m just wondering when
I get mine.”
“Of course, you are.”
I had to show her the entrance to the secret passageway,
at least the one I knew about, and pinkie-swear we’d explore
passages later. But I only had two more days to decide if I
was going to even attempt to keep the house. I needed to
take a closer look at finances.
Nette hadn’t been wrong. This place would make an
amazing B&B. Or, like she said, an incredible boutique hotel.
Maybe if I got a job. A job that paid $25,000 per hour. I had a
bachelor’s, but because nothing felt right and I couldn’t
decide what I wanted to do with my life, I got the degree in
liberal arts. I couldn’t come up with a single job in my area of
expertise that would pay me what I needed to make a dent in
this place.
There was simply no way I could a ord to keep it. Not
without involving my dads, and that was not going to
happen. I’d put them through enough.
I knew my failed marriage and subsequent state of empty
pocket syndrome weighed on them, no matter how much
they tried to hide it. They’d both aged over the last few
months. Dad was in his late sixties already. He didn’t need
me shoving him closer to the pearly gates.
We went back downstairs for co ee and to hopefully run
into a certain journeyman. Instead we found a scru y cat
complaining about his water bowl being empty.
I put on a pot seconds before Annette put her hands on
my shoulders and turned me to face her, a look of sheer
determination in her eyes. “Defiance.”
“Annette,” I shot back, suddenly wary.
“I think it’s time I meet your grandmother. Anyone who
decorated with this kind of underworld panache needs to be
worshipped, and worship her I shall.”
I bit my bottom lip. “The video?”
She nodded. “The video.”
My plan had been to finish watching Ruthie’s message
last night. Alone. So I could melt down in peace if I needed
to. I could still melt down with Annette by my side, it would
just be embarrassing. At least Ink wouldn’t have heckled me.
We sat down at the breakfast table with our cups and I
opened up the file.
“What are these other files in the folder?”
“I’m not sure yet. I just clicked on the one titled
Defiance.”
 The lovely Ruthie Goode came into view again, frozen
where I’d paused yesterday, her blond, shoulder-length bob
cut to inspire elegance and style. The moment I went to click
on play, a knock sounded at the back door not ten feet from
us.
I walked over and opened it. A young woman stood on the
back porch, bouncing from one foot to the other, her
expression panicked. She had gorgeous tawny skin, a light
sprinkling of freckles and huge, expressive eyes. Her black
curly hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and her jacket
sat askew and inside out on her shoulders.
The strangest thing about the encounter, however, was
that she’d come to the back door. I wondered if she knew
Ruthie well. If she knew she’d passed.
I’d barely gotten out a “Hi” before she barged past me,
her gaze flitting about wildly.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. You’re Defiance, right?”
Again with this?
“I’m Dana. Dana Hart. I’m across the way, a couple
houses down over on Warren. I’m so sorry about Ruthie. I
can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I lost my
ring.” She stopped and eyed me, clearly wanting a response.
“My wedding ring.”
I glanced at Annette whose only contribution was a shrug.
Dana was nearly hyperventilating, so I o ered her a chair.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly,” she said, sinking into the
seat.
I sat beside her and took her hand into mine to help calm
her.
“I can’t believe it. It was on the sink and then it wasn’t.
I’ve torn my house apart. I’ve taken o that catch thing
underneath the sink? You know, where the water flows?
Nothing. I’ve even combed through my dog’s poop. Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.”
 After retrieving my hand from hers, I glanced at Annette
again. She was much more helpful this time. She made the
crazy gesture, winding her index finger around her ear.
Discreetly, though. So Dana wouldn’t see.
“It’s nowhere.” She slammed me with a look of such utter
desperation, my heart went out to her. Broke free from my
rib cage and flew on angel wings to this strange, hysterical
person.
Then I felt it again. That quake beneath my feet.
Dana had felt it, too. She paused long enough to look up
and say, “I’m sorry. I’m just so upset. I didn’t mean to
ignore you, Percy. How are you?” Without waiting for an
answer—which could take a while—she bolted out of the
chair and went back to pacing. “You have to find it for me.
Whittington’s coming back tomorrow night. It was his great,
great, great, great grandmother’s, or some crap, passed
down from Hart woman to Hart woman for generations, and
I’m the one who loses it. The family will never forgive me.”
“Dana,” I said, risking my life by stepping into her path.
But I had to. She was digging a trench in my floor.
She stopped, her gaze landing on me at last.
“Will you sit down so we can talk about this? I’m not sure
how I’m supposed to help you find your ring, but . . .”
Her lashes blinked in such rapid succession, I feared they
would take flight. “I don’t understand.” She glanced at
Annette then back at me. “You’re Defiance, right?”
“Yes. Would you like to sit—?”
“Ruthie’s granddaughter?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Then . . . I don’t get it.”
I gave up and sat down myself. “Dana, why would you
think I can help you find your wedding ring?”
The snort that escaped from her lovely mouth was almost
as humorous as the perplexed look Annette’s face. “Because
you’re Ruthie’s granddaughter.”
“Okay.”
“You . . . are . . . Ruthie’s . . . granddaughter,” she
repeated, slower this time, enunciating each syllable.
This was getting us absolutely nowhere. “Please, sit
down.”
She finally lowered herself into the chair next to me, now
as wary of me as I was of her.
“What does my being Ruthie’s granddaughter have to do
with you finding your ring?”
A bout of nervous laughter bubbled out of her. She
sobered, and repeated, “I don’t get it.”
“Yes, you said that.”
“No, I mean, you’re Defiance Dayne. Ruthie told me all
about your—Oh, my God!” Her hands flew to her mouth.
“You don’t want people to know. You want to be incognito.
Like Batman. Or Superman. Or Ted Bundy. You want your
identity to be kept a secret.”
What in the love of crystal meth was this woman on?
She’d looked so normal. I’d heard heroin was big again,
especially with desperate housewives.
“I am so sorry,” she continued. “I haven’t told anyone. I
swear. I’m probably the only person in town who knows
about you. Well, one of maybe three.” She looked up and
counted on her fingers. “Four tops.”
Okay, enough of this. I took her hands and pulled her to
her feet. “Dana, we have a lot of work to do. Maybe we can
come over later and help you look? How does that sound?”
“No!” She dug in her heels. “You have to help me. His
family will never forgive me.”
“How am I supposed to help you?” I asked, exasperated.
“With . . . you know.” She lifted her shoulders and made a
face like we were sharing some deep, dark secret.
 “You’re right,” I said, urging her toward the door again.
“I’ll look into it. Swear.”
Just when I’d gotten her halfway out the door, she gasped
and whirled around again. “Wait. You don’t know.”
“Know what?” Annette asked, chiming in at last.
She ignored her and kept her gaze locked onto me like I’d
just grown another head. “How can you not know?”
“Thanks for stopping by,” I said, shooing her out the
door. She’d gone from frantic to bewildered to dumbfounded
in a matter of minutes.
“You have to help me.”
“We will. We’ll stop by later. How’s that?” I didn’t wait
for an answer. I shut the door.
She stood there staring at me through the glass like a lost
puppy dog.
“God, I love this town,” Annette said.
“Yeah. Sure. Me, too.” Even though I said the words, I was
beginning to wonder about it.
After reheating my co ee, I sat down again. Annette kept
her gaze locked onto me, watching my every move.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. That was just weird.”
“Yes, it was. Where are your psychic abilities when I need
them? You could’ve warned me about her.”
“I think they’re on the fritz. I think Percy is blocking
them.”
I woke up my laptop and Annette scooted closer for a
better view. “She was so lovely, your grandmother.”
“Wasn’t she?” I clicked play.
Ruthie started speaking immediately. “We don’t have a
lot of time, honey. If you’re watching this, I’ve passed over,
and you need to protect yourself. I know I’ve thrown a lot at
you. I wish I could’ve found you and explained everything in
person, but we have to get past that, now. Your life depends
on it.”
Annette hit pause. “We need to be writing this stu down.
It’ll make a great movie of the week someday. It’s all so
theatrical.”
I took a sip, then asked, “Why would my life depend on
anything?”
“No clue, but it does suck to be you at the moment.” She
hit play again.
“I know that sounds a bit theatrical,” Ruthie continued.
“Like a movie of the week.”
“Oh, my God.” Annette hit pause again and touched her
fingertips to her parted lips. “I really am psychic.”
Oh, for the love of puppies. I hit play.
“Please trust me. Just for a little while. Just until I know
you’re safe.”
She waited, then, as though expecting me to answer.
“I need you to do something, and then I will explain in
vivid detail why. I just need you to do this one thing first.
Deal?”
“Deal,” I said aloud. To no absolutely one.
“Okay. I need you to—”
A knock sounded again. This time from the front door. I
pressed pause. “What now?”
Annette shrugged again, even though she was busy
frowning at Ruthie’s image, her mind working overtime.
“Did you see that?”
“I’ll be right back.”
I answered the door, this time to a twenty-something
male, slim with sandy hair. He had a very similar expression
on his face, the same one as my last visitor.
“Hi, are you Mrs. Goode’s granddaughter?”
“Apparently,” I said for the umpteenth time. “What can I
do for you?”
 He stepped closer, pleading.
My hand tightened around the doorknob I clung to. I
wasn’t about to let this one inside.
“My girlfriend is missing. She’s been missing for over a
week now. I need you to find her.”
I realized Annette had walked up behind me.
“Look,” I said, getting aggravated. “I don’t know where
you’re getting your information—”
“Please.” He twisted a baseball cap in his fists. “The cops
haven’t turned up anything. Their investigation has stalled. I
need someone who can actually do some good.”
“Mr. . . .?
“Scott. Wade Scott. I have money. Not much. I can get
more, though. Anything. Just name your price.”
As much as that thought perked up my broke little ears, I
shook my head at him, confused. “Mr. Scott, I don’t know
what you expect me to do.”
His face morphed from frantic to confusion, much like
Dana’s had. “You’re Mrs. Goode’s granddaughter, right?
You’re related?”
This was getting ridiculous. “Look, I’m so sorry for what
you’re going through. Really, I am, but I can’t help you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You and me both.”
I went to close the door, but he held up a hand. “Wait.”
He fished a card out of his shirt pocket. “If you change your
mind.” He handed it to me. It was a business card for a Scott
Construction. “And this.” He handed me a picture,
supposedly of his girlfriend, a pretty brunette. “That’s Sara.
If you change your mind.” He stepped even closer. “Please
change your mind.”
The muscles in my chest tightened as I slid the door
closed.
“Seriously, Deph,” Annette said. “What on God’s green?”
 “What on God’s green indeed.” We headed back to the
table. “How can I help anyone find anything? And what does
my likely relation to Ruthie have to do with it?”
Annette stopped as a thought occurred to her. “Dude, she
was a PI. She had to be. That’s the only explanation.”
“Maybe.”
She poured us some more co ee. “It has to be. And for
some reason everyone thinks you’re going into the same
business.” She handed my cup back.
“Thank you. So, is it going to be like this all the time? I
don’t think I can handle many more of these visits.”
“Surely not. I mean, once people figure out you have no
talent whatsoever, especially when it comes to
investigations, they’ll stop bugging you. I’m certain of it.”
She patted my back for reassurance.
“I guess. Thanks, Nette. You’re the best.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Before we could hit play again, another knock sounded on
the front door.
I gaped at my bestie. She gaped back, before casting
another quizzical expression at the screen of my laptop.
“That’s it. I’ll take care of this.”
“Atta girl.”
I marched to the door and opened it to an insanely tall
man with a tweed jacket and pencil mustache.
“No,” I said, then started to close the door.
“Ms. Dayne?” he said, hesitant.
I stopped and gave him my best expression of sympathy.
“I get it. You’ve lost something. Or someone. But I’m full up.
I can’t help you.”
“Ms. Dayne, wait. I’m from Santander Bank.”
“A bank? Don’t tell me. You got robbed, right?”
“Well—”
 “And you need someone to find the money? Or maybe the
thief. Either way, I am not your girl. I have zero investigative
skills no matter how talented my grandmother apparently
was, so you’re wasting your time. Pinky swear.”
“I just need a moment—”
“Sorry. Not today.” I felt bad, but it had to be done. I
slammed the door in his face. Poor guy.
I turned and ran smack dab into a brick wall. A brick wall
covered in muscle and ink.
“Roane,” I said, stepping back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to
mow you over.”
He lifted an amused brow.
“Well, you know, run into you.”
He wore a di erent tee, a black one that brought out the
color in his tattoos, but he wore that same kilt. Then again,
maybe he had a whole collection. A girl could dream. This
time, he had a round hunk of metal in his hands. The way he
held it in his long, strong fingers—careful yet firm, rather
like the way I wished he would hold my ass—sent a shot of
yearning straight to my abdomen. My abdomen hadn’t
yearned in a long time.
“I’m going out for a sprocket,” he said. “I’ll be back in
twenty.”
Clearing my throat, I recovered. Feigned coolness. “Oh,
good. We can always use more sprockets.”
That lazy grin made another appearance. “What did Mr.
Bourne want?”
“Mr. Bourne?”
He gestured toward the door. “The banker.”
“Oh.” I waved a dismissive hand. “Who knows? People
keep knocking on my door wanting me to find things for
them. I can barely find my sanity when I need it. Why would
they think I could find their things?”
 The look he graced me with, one of curiosity and, if I
didn’t know better, admiration, sent an electrical shockwave
from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “I don’t
know,” he said, dropping his gaze to the metal object in his
hands, “you found me.”
For a long moment, I forgot how to breathe. He was so
sincere. And almost, for a split second, vulnerable. I
refocused and decided to tease him. “Yeah, well, you were
standing in my kitchen half-naked. It was hard not to find
you.”
I stood there, basking in the glow of his olive eyes. They
shimmered even in the low light. I stared too long. He stared
back. The moment should have been awkward. It was
anything but.
He recovered first. “Do you need anything while I’m
out?”
“No, but Ink might want more pizza. He took the last
slice.”
He laughed softly. “Sorry about that.”
“Not at all. He’s adorable in a demolition derby kind of
way.”
“That’s Ink,” he said with a nod before heading out the
door. I watched as long as I could, fighting the urge to ask
him if I could have his babies, then I hightailed it back to the
kitchen.
“A banker,” I said to Annette when I walked back in. “And
Roane went out to get sprockets.”
“I missed him again?” she asked, her gaze glued to the
screen.
“It’s your turn to answer the door. Just tell them I’ve
slipped into a coma and the prognosis is grim and what in
the blazing saddles are you doing?”
She was staring at the screen, her face the picture of
concentration. “Just watch.”
 I joined her and we stared at Ruthie Goode for a solid two
minutes before I asked, “What are we looking for? She’s on
pause.”
“Exactly. Just wait.”
“No.” At the rate we were going, I’d never finish the
video, and it was only thirteen minutes and thirteen seconds
long. Which was odd. I pressed play and Ruthie began talking
again.
“I know you’re going to wonder why, but I need you to
draw a symbol in the air while thinking about protection.”
She lifted a drawing. It reminded me of a treble clef, two
loops on top of each other with a wavy line down the center.
“Can you draw this in the air for me with your hand? And
remember, concentrate on the idea of protection.”
“This is getting so weird,” Annette said, her tone full of
anticipation.
I crossed my arms. “Is this a test? Like for physical
dexterity or something?”
Ruthie showed her palms. “I know this sounds strange,
sweetheart. Please just trust me. Please do this. I’ll wait.”
I let out a loud breath. Annette watched as I raised a hand
and tried to draw the symbol.
“Start here,” Ruthie added, pointing to the bottom of the
first loop. “With two fingers, maybe. I’m not really sure. I’m
not like you. But start here, loop one, loop two, then wave
down.”
I paused the video. “I feel like an idiot.” Turning to
Annette, I realized she’d brought out her phone. “Don’t you
dare film this.”
She snorted. “How can I not?”
I grabbed the phone, laid it on the table, and tried again.
“No, no, no. Not like that, honey,” Ruthie said. “I think
you have to start at the bottom.”
 Annette and I both snapped back to the screen, our jaws
unhinging.
“I thought I put that on pause.”
“I knew it,” Annette said.
I gaped at her. “You knew what?”
Ruthie was now waiting, supposedly for me to complete
the task. She chewed on her lower lip and looked to the side
as if to avoid eye contact.
Annette leaned closer, squinting her eyes. “She heard the
knock. Before. She’d stopped talking when that banker
knocked, even before you hit pause.”
I eased back, putting distance between me and the woman
in the video. “That’s not possible.”
“And then, while you were talking to him, she blinked. I
saw it.” She pointed at Ruthie, her tone accusing, like the
woman had done something wrong.
Wait, she had done something wrong!
“Ruthie Goode,” I said, my voice razor-sharp. “Are you
still alive?”
“Have you drawn the symbol?” she asked, her voice
hesitant.
“Are we on Skype or something?”
“It’s very important that you draw it correctly or it won’t
work.”
I leaned closer, my face inches from the screen, and said,
“I will close this laptop right now if you don’t tell me what’s
going on. Where are you?”
She deflated and looked back at us. “I’m sorry. I thought
this would work.”
I bolted back, knocking over the chair. “You’re alive?”
A sadness lowered her shoulders even more. “No, honey. I
died. Just like Mrs. Richter told you. But before I passed, I
created a spell that would allow me to communicate with
you, and this is the best I could do. You’re in terrible
danger.”
“A spell?” Annette asked, fascinated.
“I’m a witch.”
“Oh, my God.” She covered her mouth with both fists to
keep from squealing. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Salem, actually.” Ruthie winked at her. “Pretty darn
close.”
“Ruthie,” I said, my tone soft, placating, “you aren’t
dead. You can’t be. It doesn’t work like that.”
“You are so beautiful,” she said, her eyes glistening. “I
wanted to meet you so often. Instead, I had you watched. I
received regular updates about you and your life and your
friends.”
“Watched? Like by a private investigator?”
“Something like that. I’ll explain. I promise I will, but my
death broke the protection spell I had on you.”
“Ruthie, a lot of people think you’ve passed away. You
can’t do that to them.”
“She did pass away,” Annette said, falling for every word.
“Okay, let’s pretend I’m still alive.”
“You are,” I said sadly.
“Will you make the symbol? Just try.”
“I will.” I raised my chin. “When we meet face-to-face.”
Did she not want to meet me?
A cabinet door slammed beside us so hard, it shook the
house. Annette screamed and jumped away, her lids like
saucers from behind her cat-eye glasses.
Ruthie nodded in resignation. “Don’t be mad, Percival.
She doesn’t understand yet.”
I’d jumped at the sound, too, but now I stood frozen, my
mind racing, trying to figure out what was going on. All the
while, my body fought for control. It wanted me out of there.
Out of the house. Out of Salem.
 “I can see this isn’t going to work until you know the
truth. Until you believe the truth. Go to Houston. The police
chief you met. He’ll show you my body.”
A sense of dread took root and snaked its way throughout
my entire being. “Ruthie—”
“Go, sweetheart. Hurry. I’ll be here when you get back.
But please be careful.”
 FIVE

Sometimes someone unexpected comes

into your life and makes your heart race.
We call these people cops.
-Meme

Chief Metcalf had been expecting us. I didn’t ask him how.
He stood when we walked into his o ce at the police station.
The o cer who led us back o ered us co ee, but I couldn’t
speak, so Annette politely declined. He closed the door
behind us.
“Defiance,” the chief said, gesturing to two chairs.
“Annette. Nice to see you again.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, finding my voice at last.
“If you’ll just sit down—”
“I’m good. Please, Chief Metcalf, what is going on?”
“Call me Houston.” He was graying at the temples. It
made him look even more distinguished.
“She’d not dead.”
“Yes, sweetheart, she is.”
“She’s—she’s in the video.”
 “It was the only way. Something about the radio waves
being compatible with the veil? I don’t know all of the
technical stu .”
“She’s not dead.” I felt like I was losing my grandmother
all over again. And I’d just found her. “This stu isn’t real. It
doesn’t exist.”
“Come on.” He led us out the door. We got in his cruiser
and he took us to the funeral home.
The dread began su ocating me. He spoke softly with the
funeral director, a stark gentleman with a sharp, angular
face and round glasses, then took us to a room where we
waited in absolute silence. Even Annette had nothing to say,
the weight of the home crushing.
After a few minutes, the director and an assistant wheeled
out a co n. As I looked at it, my vision blurred. I blinked
back the stinging wetness.
“I’m paying for the funeral if you don’t mind, Defiance.”
The director looked at me in surprise. “Defiance Goode?”
Paying for the funeral had been the last thing on my
mind, but I knew those things cost a fortune. But what struck
me most was that my name was originally Defiance Goode. It
was so foreign and yet settled around me like an old blanket.
“Dayne,” the chief corrected.
“You’re Ruthie’s granddaughter? I am so sorry for your
loss,” he said, his words seemingly genuine as he took my
hand. “She was something else.”
The assistant opened the co n to reveal a stunning older
woman who looked nowhere near the eighty years she had to
be. Her blond hair had been dressed and a light dusting of
makeup gave color to her pale skin.
“She was a looker,” the chief said, and then the funeral
thing finally sank in.
“Why are you paying for her funeral?”
 “It’s the least I can do. She . . . she helped me when I
wasn’t even aware I needed help.”
Annette, whom I just realized had been holding my hand
since we arrived, said to him, “You loved her.”
He pressed his mouth together. “More than anything on
this earth.”
I looked at her again. Stepped closer. Brushed my
fingertips across her porcelain face. “I just . . . this isn’t
real.”
“She wanted one of those natural burials. You know the
kind. No embalming fluid. Just her finding her way back to
nature.”
Even in death, she had an air about her. A genteel quality.
“This isn’t real,” I repeated, my voice hitching.
“I’m so sorry,” the chief said, before pulling me into a
hug.
I hugged back.

“YOU HAD A TWIN, RIGHT?” I asked Ruthie when we got back

to the house, my voice somber. “I had a great aunt?”
She’d had her back to . . . what? The camera? Surely they
didn’t have cameras on the other side, and I realized with
that one thought I was totally buying into all of this.
She whirled around. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wanted to
know you more than anything in the world.”
“Then why? If you were having me watched, you knew
where I was. You knew who’d adopted me. Why not come
find me?” I felt like a child, wondering why her parents
didn’t love her. All those feelings of abandonment resurfaced
in one, gut-wrenching blow.
Annette was making a pot of co ee while I threw my pity
party. She glanced over her shoulder in apprehension.
 “I can explain,” Ruthie said.
“Please, do.”
She filled her lungs. “I will. I swear. As soon as you—”
“Make the stupid symbol? How is this real, Ruthie? How
is any of this real?”
“I told you. I’m a witch, but there’s more to it than that. I
—we—come from a long line of very powerful witches. We
can do things mundane witches, those who come to the
religion voluntarily, can’t.”
“Things like live forever thanks to Wi-Fi?”
“Well, no, this is new. It took me years and years of
research to figure out how to do this. We can come back from
the veil, yes. Communication is where it gets tricky. I needed
a way to communicate with you. To explain who you are. Or,
more importantly, what you are.”
“Why wait then? Why not find me sooner and tell me all
of this while you were still alive?”
“I made a promise.”
“To who?” I asked, my voice rising an octave with
frustration. “Who could you possibly promise something so
inane—”
“You.”
I stopped and sat back in my chair. “What?”
“I promised you, my darling girl. You are everything. I
had to keep you safe.”
“Why?”
“You’re not like me. Not entirely. You are what is called a
source. Or, in some circles, a charmling.”
Annette sat down and slid a cup to me. I ignored it.
“You are the rarest breed of mystical creature in the
known realm.”
“What realm? What are you even talking about?”
“The known realm.”
“What is the known realm?”
 “I don’t know. It’s the realm that’s known. The important
thing is, you are a charmling, and as such, we don’t have
much time.”
“What does that mean?”
“Sweetheart, we don’t have time.”
“What. Does. That. Mean?”
“Okay, then.” She shrugged and sat down. I just couldn’t
tell on what. “Witch 101 it is. When a witch uses her powers,
she has to draw energy from living things. Or, things that
were once alive. Herbs, animals, insects.”
“I’ve seen the movies.”
“Oh, I have, too,” Annette said, chiming in.
“But a source, a charmling, is energy. Pure, dynamic
energy. You don’t need to pull energy from an outside source
to create magic because you generate your own. You are a
walking, breathing, self-sustaining nuclear powerplant.”
A dubious grin formed on my mouth, and I waved an
index finger back and forth. “You almost had me.”
“Oh, come on,” Annette said. “This is gold.”
“Gold covered BS is still BS. I am no di erent than any
other person on the street. I think I would’ve known.”
“Oh, you are, darling girl. Comparing you to the average
person is like comparing the sun to a speck of dust on your
shoe. You are so much more powerful than you realize. But
you can be killed. Especially now. We need to perform—”
“Okay, how did all of this come about? Why am I so
di erent from you?”
“You were born a charmling.”
“Then my dad was a charmling?”
“No, the power can only be held by a female.”
“As it should be,” Annette said.
“Then my mom?”
“No. That’s why you were such a surprise, to say the
least. To give you an idea of what I mean, your birth was
comparable to the birth of an illegitimate child in a crack
house only to find out that child is of royal blood and next in
line to be the queen of England.” She’d stopped, then added,
“If an illegitimate child born in a crack house could hold the
English throne, that is.”
“Then if not my mom or dad—”
“I said your father wasn’t a charmling himself. He
couldn’t have been. That means he had to have charmling
blood flowing through his veins. Perhaps his mother was
one. Or his grandmother. That’s the only explanation.” She
shook her head, dismissing the quandary. “It doesn’t matter.
Since we don’t know who he is, we have no way of knowing
which family he’s from. And, Defiance,” she said, leaning
closer, “that’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“Great,” I said, the word dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s
say, for argument’s sake, I buy this. How did any of it come
about?”
“Sweetheart, we don’t have time.”
“Let’s make the time.”
“Okay, Charmling 101. The charmlings were created by
original witches thousands of years ago. They were a coven,
and they saw the injustice women su ered at the hands of
men, even in the witch realm. They sought to balance the
power by creating three beings no man can defeat.”
“I like it,” Annette said.
“They pooled their power and the power of their
ancestors and funneled it into three witches to be a beacon of
light. To balance the power.”
“There are only three of us? Charmlings?”
“Yes. When one charmling dies, either another witch
inherits that power or, if a girl is born of charmling blood,
that baby inherits it. The baby takes precedence always.”
“Then why hide me away?”
 “There are those who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you to get
your power. I had to hide you.”
“And the other two charmlings? You know who they are?”
“Yes. They’re very protected. They’re celebrities in the
witch world, even though most of us don’t believe they were
born of royal blood. They were simply witches until they
were created by killing a true charmling and stealing her
power. We believe you are the first true charmling born in
over two hundred years.”
“Great. This mad rush with the protection spell, is
someone out to get me?”
“Those dark forces are always on the lookout for the third
charmling. Hunters were dispatched the moment you were
born. They would kill you in a heartbeat, Defiance. But that’s
the thing. A charmling is the most powerful supernatural
being on the planet. Once you establish your shield, once you
protect yourself, you cannot be as easily killed.”
“As easily? You mean they’d have to use a sledgehammer
or something?” It was bizarre to be talking about my
impending doom so casually.
“Not even then,” she said with a soft husky laugh. “I just
wanted to keep you safe, so I hid your power. Di used it, if
you will. I made it so that no other creature, human or witch,
could pinpoint your location. My spell is like a GPS blocker.”
“But now that you’re gone?”
“My spell is gone. You’re vulnerable, and I can guarantee
you there are forces in play as we speak, making plans to
steal your power. We have to reactivate the shield, the GPS
blocker. We have to di use your power so that even other
witches think you are simply one of their own.”
“Okay, let me get this straight. There are witches,” I said,
ignoring her pleas, “and there are charmlings. What else is
out there, hidden in plain sight?”
 “That’s pretty much it. Oh, well, besides demons, though
they hardly ever bother anyone. They have an undeservedly
sullied reputation. What you have to understand is that
charmlings are witches. Just very, very powerful ones.”
“Wait a minute,” Annette said, holding her hands in a
time-out T. She turned to me, aghast. “You’re a witch?”
I glanced at Ruthie then back. “’Parently.”
“You . . . are a witch.”
“That’s the word on the street.”
“A witch.”
“Dude, you have to stop.” This was getting embarrassing.
“You,” she repeated, the disbelief in her voice a tad
insulting.
“We need to get past this.”
She released a sigh full of pain and betrayal and plopped
her chin into her cupped hands. “I guess I always knew, what
with me being psychic and all.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“You must be Nannette,” Ruthie said.
“Annette,” she said, forlornly.
“Can I call you Nan?”
“No. How does she get to be a witch? I’m the one with
psychic abilities.”
“Trust me, it was a surprise to everyone. Even your
mother, Deph.”
“Did this danger have anything to do with her death?”
She lowered her head. “I’m afraid so. Your mother died
protecting you from another witch trying to confiscate your
powers.”
A tremor rushed through the house at that, and I got the
feeling Percival was upset by that fact, too. I wondered if it
happened in the house. If he witnessed it.
A wave of anxiety washed over me at the thought of my
mother dying to protect me. That I would be the cause of her
death. “Okay. Um.” It was my turn to make the timeout sign.
“I’m just going to need a minute.”
“Sweetheart, we have to hurry.”
“No, I know. I just—Give me a sec.”
“No!”
Annette and I both jumped then turned slowly to gape at
the elegant lady on the screen. She stood up, her jaw set, her
eyes shooting fire. Not literally.
“I have not spent the last forty years apart from you, my
beloved granddaughter, for you to be slaughtered now. If
they come, Defiance—and they will come—they will kill you
in the blink of an eye, and then they will drain every ounce of
energy, every ounce of magic, you have in your heart.”
I lowered myself onto the chair. Annette did the same.
“This is your birthright, Defiance. I deserve more time
with you, damn it.”
Being scolded by one’s grandmother was . . . well, it was
kind of awesome. Also, I didn’t want to die.
“What do I have to do?”
“You can start by making this symbol. We’ll go from
there.”
“What does that symbol do?”
She bit her lip and studied the paper she held up. “I can’t
be entirely certain because, again, it’s not my language, but
if my research has paid o , it will do one of two things: cast
you inside a cloak of protection that no mortal being can
break or summon an army of demons. Only one way to find
out.”
Three hours later, the only thing I had to show for my
e orts was a sore arm. We had gotten exactly nowhere. Not
that I knew where we were supposed to get to.
I was no closer to figuring out if I could keep Percy. Or
Ink. Or Roane. Mostly Roane. And I was no closer to
becoming a magician, though I did make an entire plate of
spaghetti and meatballs disappear, much to Ruthie’s
distress.
“Does he come with the house?” I asked her as Annette
and I ate. She’d ordered an Italian sub. We figured, since it
was quite possible that I’d die in the next few days, there was
no reason to go easy on the carbs. “Roane?”
“See, this is why we aren’t getting anywhere.” She was
busy drawing something. Probably another stupid symbol.
Where did she even get pen and paper in the afterlife? “You
aren’t taking any of this seriously.”
“Sure, I am,” I said, slurping up my last few strands. “I’m
just not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Your powers have been dormant for a long time. They’re
still there, we just have to figure out how to restart them.”
“Oh, what’s with all these people coming to the door
wanting me to find things for them?”
She looked up. “What?”
“People. Coming to the door. Wanting me to find things. I
can barely find my phone when I need it, and nine times out
of ten, it’s already in my other hand.”
“Who’s coming to the door.”
“There was a woman a couple houses down,” Annette
said. “Dark hair. Freckles. Very pretty.”
“Dana. Did she lose her wedding ring again?”
“Yep. Then a guy came to the house saying his girlfriend
has been missing for over a week.”
“Oh, yes. I heard about that.”
“Then the banker,” I added. “No idea what he wanted. I
didn’t give him a chance to tell me.”
“Mr. Bourne?”
“What gives, Ruthie? Why do they think I can find
things?”
She cleared her throat and fanned her face with the
papers she’d been drawing on. “Well, that was my
specialty.”
I’d been washing my plate. I stopped to look at her. She
was hiding something.
“It’s how I made my living for the most part. Well, that
and séances. People simply adore séances.”
Annette, who’d been about to fall asleep on top her Italian
sub—one could only take so much of me waving my arm
around for no reason whatsoever—perked up. “Séances? You
held séances?”
“Yes. Percival was a huge help with that. They were
always a big hit.”
“Were they real?” she asked. “Could you talk to the
dead?”
“I can now.” Ruthie giggled at her own joke. “But, for the
most part, that kind of thing veered into dark territory, so I
tried to stay away from it.”
I stood in the center of the room and began making the
symbol again.
“Okay, stop before you put an eye out,” she said,
disgusted.
“This is getting us nowhere. Shouldn’t I be learning
spells? I mean, isn’t there a book or something?”
“A book? A book?” She leaned forward, her piercing gaze
razor-sharp. “You can’t handle the book.” Then she broke
down into a fit of giggles, the sound deep and husky like her
voice. “I’ve always wanted to say that. No, but really, you
can’t. It would be like giving a toddler the detonator to a
nuclear warhead.”
“That’s not insulting at all.”
“It shouldn’t be. You, my dear, are the nuclear warhead.
Remember, you’re a source. I think you should master your
own magics first, then move on to the more general stu .”
“Maybe I just need a kick start. Something to rekindle the
black magic woman in me.”
 “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe you need
more motivation. Apparently, not dying a horrible death at
the hands of a blood-thirsty warlock is not going to do it. Go
to my room and grab the book out of my nightstand.”
“Warlocks are a real thing?” I asked.
“They’re just witches who use their power for evil.”
“Oh, so like Annette.”
She jerked awake again. “I do not use my powers for evil.”
“Tenth grade. You told Star Furlong you had a
premonition she was going to die in a horrible accident if she
went to see the Smashing Pumpkins and you went in her
place. With her date.”
She sucked air in through her teeth. “Oh, yeah.”
“Does that make her a warlock, Grandma?” I asked as I
walked out of the room.
I trudged up the stairs—my knees were not what they
used to be—did a quick sweep for Roane to no avail, then
went to the nightstand and found not one, but two leather-
bound books in the drawer, both handmade and ancient. I
drew in a breath and ran my fingers over the lettering of the
largest. Grimoire.
I hurried downstairs, picking up a stray on the way named
Ink, and burst into the kitchen, books in hand.
“Ruthie, these are magnificent. I love old books. I make
them for my Etsy store.”
She sni ed and patted her nose with a handkerchief. “I
know, sweetheart. I’ve bought a few. Exquisite work.”
My jaw dropped to the floor. I picked it back up and sat
down with the books. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m wonderful.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Annette asked, oohing and
aahing over the book as well.
“An authentic grimoire. One of only a couple dozen to
survive the witch trials. Open it.”
 I shook my head. “I need gloves. This book is priceless.”
“It’s okay.”
“Let me at least wash my hands.”
She waited while Annette and I both washed and dried our
hands.
“What do you do there when you aren’t talking to us,
Ruthie?” I asked.
“Oh, I have lots of friends here.
“What about my mom?” I asked, suddenly excited. “Could
I see her, too?”
“No, honey. This took a ton of preparation for me to do. It
would have to have been done before she died.”
“Right.”
We sat back down and I opened it to the first page. It
smelled like dust and old leather and crumbling parchment
and it called to me. It seemed to summon my soul right out
of my body.
The pages were thick, much thicker than what was used
today.
“A grimoire is like a witch’s bible,” Annette said, her
voice filled with awe. “It has all kinds of information that’s
useful to us.”
I almost cracked up then figured who was I to judge? If
she wanted to embrace the life with me, I was more than
happy to have her along.
She continued as we flipped through the pages. They were
brittle and I feared for their safety.
“Look. It has the lunar phases. Color correspondences.
Herb correspondences. Info about the sabbath. And, see?”
She poked one of the fragile pages and I winced. “Spells!”
“You need to study that,” Ruthie said. “You’ll need to
know all of it.”
“What about this one?” I showed her the other book I
found. A journal, though it looked just as old as the grimoire.
 She smiled. “That one is the motivation.”
I opened it. “The pages are empty.”
“Exactly. That is my personal book of shadows.”
Annette gasped. It was a long, drawn out thing that
teetered somewhere between melodramatic and mass
hysteria.
“I take it you know what that means?”
She nodded like a kid in a candy store when asked,
“Which flavor?” Only in Annette’s case, a tequila store. “It’s
a witch’s journal. A lot of people think grimoires and books
of shadows are the same thing, but they’re not.”
“You’re right, Nannette.” Ruthie looked pleased with her.
At least someone could put a smile on her face. Though I
could hardly be jealous of Nannette.
“Right. I knew that,” I lied through my pearly whites.
“Liar.”
“The pages only look empty. I don’t want just anyone
reading my personal journal. However, if you really want to,
you can. You know how.”
“More symbols?” I asked, infusing my voice with way
more whine than I normally used.
“I know you’re tired and overwhelmed, but we have to do
something. Open the book of shadows and try to read it.”
I did as she ordered, and so began another session of a
whole lot of nothing.
“Am I supposed to draw the symbol over the paper?”
“I don’t know, hon. I just know that charmlings can read
all books of shadows, no matter how strong the magics are
that bind them. It’s supposed to be one of your gifts.”
“Ruthie, are you sure I am this thing? I’m a charmling? I
mean, I’ve never done magic in my life.”
“Oh, honey, trust me. You’ve done magic.”
That got my attention. “When?”
 “From the time you were born. I didn’t send you into
hiding until you were three. Before that, you were the most
powerful being I’d ever had the honor of being in the
presence of.” She showed me another drawing. “What about
this symbol? Does it mean anything to you? Spark any
memories?”
Disappointment enveloped me and I deflated like a
balloon with a slow leak. “No. What does it mean?”
“No idea. I just saw it on a document once.”
“So, it could be a logo for a European car for all you
know?”
“Actually, yes.”
Annette was now snoring on the table, her glasses askew
on her face, her mouth twisted to the side. She was also
drooling, but only a little.
“I’m done.”
“No!” Ruthie said, jumping to her feet.
“You may not need sleep, but I do. I’m going to bed.” I
started to get up, then I stopped and asked, “Wait. Do you
need sleep?”
“I don’t think so. I have another call to make anyway.”
“A call? Who are you calling this late at night?”
“Just meditate on all of this before you go to sleep, okay?
It’s in there, Dephne. We just have to find it.”
“I will. I promise. But I do have another question. Why did
you think the books would motivate me?”
“Books have always been your motivation. Even when you
were a toddler. The older, the better.”
She was right. That knowledge—the knowledge that she
knew such intimate things about me—filled me with
warmth.
“Night, Ruthie.”
“Night, sweetheart.” She looked worried. I hadn’t
managed to muster a spark of magic much less master the
whole of witchcraft in a single night.
Even worried, she was beautiful. I’d give her that. If not
for that slight touch of Nora Desmond, she’d almost pass for
normal. Ish.
I gathered my BFF and herded her up the stairs to
Ruthie’s bedroom. I’d no more laid my head down before I
heard a soft knock on the front door.
“Not again.”
I slipped on a robe and tip-toed to the first floor, hoping
to peek out without the visitor seeing me. It was my
neighbor Parris Hampton.
I cracked the door open. “Parris, is everything okay?”
“Oh, no. You were in bed. I’m so sorry, Defiance. I’ll come
back tomorrow.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Do you need anything?”
“Heavens no. I was just going to see how you’re doing.
And I brought wine.”
“Well, get in here.” I waved her inside.
“What’s going on?” Annette asked from the balcony as
she rubbed her eyes.
“Wine.”
She awoke like a rocket. “I’ll get the glasses.”
 SIX

Sing like no one is listening.

Dance like you need to be shot with a tranquilizer dart.
-Meme

The second Parris stepped across the threshold carrying a

bottle of Moscato the walls quaked around us.
“Percy,” I said under my breath, scowling at him. “Be
nice.” He shuddered again, quick and short, like a dog
shaking its fur. “Thank you.”
For the first time, I turned on a few lights in the great
room and took the sheets o some of the furniture.
Ink joined us on the couch, flicking his tail anytime
anyone tried to touch him, which we did often. He was a cat.
A creature of the animal genus Felis catus. What did he
expect?
Annette came back with wine glasses and took the
charcoal gray wingback.
After some getting-to-know-you chitchat, I steered the
conversation toward my grandmother. “Can you tell me
more about her?” I asked Parris.
 About my age, Parris had long chestnut hair that had been
through a few too many colorings and a pretty face she’d
already begun Botoxing. At least she wasn’t a tanning-bed
aficionado like her husband. I very much wanted to ask her
more about their living arrangements even though it was
none of my business.
“What was she like? Did you know her well?”
“Not as well as I’d liked. She was a firecracker, Defiance.
Told it like it was.”
Her words brought a smile to my insides and out.
“She talked about you all the time.”
“Really?” I said in awe. Ruthie knew so much about me.
Everything, apparently. Yet I’d known nothing about her.
“That’s so strange,” Annette said, already into her third
glass with hardly a slur in site. Girl could put ‘em away.
“How much she knew about you, Deph.”
“Why is that?” Parris asked.
I didn’t know why, but I felt I should keep the whole
never-met-my-grandmother card close to my chest. I was a
witch, after all. I needed to learn to trust my instincts. Every
time I ignored them, I got burned. Case in point, my snake-
skinned ex and his reptilian mother.
Annette looked at me for a clue as to how to proceed, her
expression apologetic. I shook my head dismissively, and
said, “We just didn’t get to see that much of each other. She
kept up with my life better than I kept up with hers.”
Parris nodded and shifted her position, and I could tell
she was fishing. That was okay. I liked fishing, too.
“So,” she said after taking another sip of her Moscato and
flipping her hair over her shoulder in complete nonchalance,
“um, are you like her?”
“In what way?” I asked, knowing exactly what she meant.
Annette hid a grin behind her glass.
 “You know, can you, I don’t know, do the things she
could do?”
I decided to alleviate her anticipation. “Not as far as I
know, but the day is young, as they say.”
She straightened her shoulders in interest. “Then you’re
entering the religion?”
“Considering it.”
“I think you should. If you have half the talent your
grandmother did . . . let’s just say, that woman was kind of
amazing.”
I nodded and thought of all the people I’d met so far.
“I’ve been hearing that a lot.”
“Let me know how it goes. I love a good séance. Do all
witches perform séances?”
That was a great question. “I have to admit, Parris, I
don’t know that much about it, yet.”
“Oh, no worries. I was just wondering. It’s all so
fascinating.”
“I agree.”
“Speaking of fascinating,” she said, leaning closer. “What
about the fabulous Mr. Wildes?”
“Roane?” Annette asked. “He’s real?”
I gaped at her. “What would make you think he isn’t real?
I’ve told you about him. I’ve described him in Technicolor
detail.”
She shrugged. “I have to see that kind of stunning to
believe it.”
“You have no idea what you’re missing,” Parris said. “Am
I right?”
I laughed. “You are most definitely right.”
“After everything that happened to him, and everything
he’s had to overcome with such a tragic past, it’s a miracle
he’s turned out so well.”
 “Oh?” I said, scooting closer to her. “What happened
exactly?”
“You don’t know?” Her eyes glistened with intrigue, but
she went to pet Ink and, instead of talking, she gasped when
she got a handful of needlelike claws in return. She yelped
and pulled back her hand.
“Ink!” I grabbed Parris’s hand to get a look, then glared
at the mangy creature. “Bad boy.”
“It’s okay,” she said, wresting her hand out of my grip.
“Totally my fault. I should probably put something on this.”
She stood to leave. “It’s past midnight anyway.”
Disappointment washed over me. I wanted to know more
about the fabulous Mr. Wildes and what he went through.
What he had to overcome.
Annette and I stood to show her out.
“Thanks for coming over,” I said. “This was fun.”
She turned and nodded. “It was, wasn’t it?”
I laughed softly. “Surprised?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t know. I wasn’t
sure you’d want to hang with me.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to hang with you?”
She shrugged. “Insecurity, I guess.”
I couldn’t imagine a woman like her having such a thing,
but we all had our hang-ups.
After one last sweep of the house, she sighed and said
dreamily, “I’ve always loved this house. It has so much
personality. So much potential.” She took my hand into hers.
“If you ever decide to sell, will you please call me first?”
“Sure.”
“No, I mean it. I would love to restore Percy to his
original glory.”
For some reason, that seemed to take a weight o my
shoulders. At least if I did end up selling him, I’d know he
was going to someone who loved him as much as I did.
 “Thank you, Parris. I’ll keep that in mind.”

TWELVE THOUSAND HOURS LATER, I lay awake beside

Annette, staring at the ceiling and listening to her soft snore.
I had no clue what to do. One more day to pull out of the
contract.
I loved Percy. Who wouldn’t? Well, besides Mrs. Richter,
who was stark raving. I mean, who was afraid of a house? I
didn’t get it. He’d been nothing but a gentleman to me.
Since my mind wouldn’t shut o , even after two glasses
of wine, I decided it wasn’t too early for co ee. I slid into a
pair of slippers and plodded down to the first floor.
Apparently, my sleeping habits resembled those of a bear. I
either slept for days at a time or not at all.
After pouring a cup, I sat at the breakfast table to check
my email. Ink joined me, curling up first in my lap and then
eventually on my laptop. Because that was helpful. I laid my
arm across the table, resting my head on it, and used my free
hand pet him. He let me, even going so far as to sni my
nose and mouth, his whiskers tickling as he inspected his
latest acquaintance.
“I bet you have a ton of girlfriends, don’t you, big guy?”
His battle scars would suggest he’d gotten in plenty of fights
over them.
I thought about bringing up the grandma app but had no
idea if she was asleep. Or if she needed sleep. Gawd, I would
get so much more done if I didn’t need sleep. The fine lines
that had started forming around my eyes loved it when I
didn’t get sleep, though, and I loathed giving them any
reason to celebrate their existence.
With Ink purring beside me, I let my lids drift shut. The
surreal swam up to meet me just as a knock sounded at the
front door. I jerked awake.
This. Was. Not. Happening.
I decided a No Trespassing sign would not do the trick. I
was going to buy yellow crime scene tape and crisscross it
over the door. I might even toss some red paint here and
there in a random, blood-splatter-esque pattern. Really
freak people out. Give them pause before knocking,
especially at . . . I looked at my bare wrist again . . . whatever
o’clock in the morning.
I opened the door to an older gentleman. He had to be in
his late seventies and wore that same look of panic I’d seen
too often in the last couple of days. I was coming to despise
that look. It would be one thing if I could help these people.
It was an entirely di erent kind of agony knowing there was
nothing I could do.
The man blinked at me in surprise, then asked, “Is Ruthie
home?”
Oh, no. I had to give him the news. This was going to
suck. I thought everyone knew. “I’m sorry. Ruthie passed
away a few days ago.”
I didn’t think my words sank in at first. He looked
confused and then . . . and then devastated. Like I’d just told
him he only had five minutes to live.
“No,” he whispered, stumbling back. “Please, no.”
I lunged forward to steady him. “Why don’t you come in.
Let’s get you some water.”
He let me lead him all the way back to the kitchen.
After setting him at the table, I grabbed a glass and a
bottle of water out of the fridge. “Here you go.”
“She’s gone?” he asked, his eyes watering, his dusky skin
reddening.
“I’m so sorry.” I sat beside him.
“I need her help.” The look on his face brought tears to
my eyes.
 “Maybe I can do something.” I could’ve kicked myself.
There was not a damned thing I could do, yet the desire to
alleviate this man’s pain was overwhelming.
As though noticing me for the first time, he brought a
hand up to my face and brushed his fingertips over my
cheek. “You’re Defiance, aren’t you? You look just like her.”
“Just like her?”
“Ruthie. She told me all about you. You have the same
eyes. The same mouth.”
For some reason, his statement brought on a rush of
elation. I’d never looked like anyone before in my life. Some
people would tell me I looked like one of my dads, or even
both, but that wasn’t a real resemblance. We weren’t blood
relatives.
“Thank you. What’s going on, Mr. . . .?”
“Touma. I’m Jameel.”
I took his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Can you tell me
what happened?”
“My wife, Siham. She’s missing. She has Alzheimer’s and
sometimes gets out of the house.”
That sickly dread I’d been feeling so much of lately crept
up my spine again, like a giant spider under my shirt.
“Usually, I find her immediately. Not this time. I’ve
searched everywhere. It’s so cold out.” He covered my hands
with his, his red-rimmed eyes brimming with unspent tears.
“I was asleep. I don’t even know how long she’s been gone.”
A tear finally broke free and slid down his dusky cheek. “But
you can do it, too, yes? You can . . . find things?”
I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath, then opened
them again. “Mr. Touma, I am so sorry. I don’t have the
same skillset my grandmother had.”
He shook his head. “No, she told me you’d eventually take
over. She said you’re more skilled than even she is. More
powerful than anything she’s ever seen.”
 My jaw locked shut. How in blazing saddles could Ruthie
say such a thing? She didn’t even know me. I could’ve lost
whatever talent I had. Whatever talent she thought I had.
How could she give people such false hope?
“Mr. Touma, have you called the police?”
“Yes. Of course, but Ruthie always . . .” He stood. His
movements slow as though he were in shock, he started
toward the door. I followed him.
“I am so sorry. I hope they find her, Mr. Touma.”
The look he gave me, the agonizing gaze he lobbed my
way, crushed my heart and lungs.
I was going to kill her.

AS SOON AS I saw Mr. Touma to his car, the icy air slicing
through the thin veil of my pajamas and into my flesh, I
hurried back inside, strode to the kitchen where my laptop
sat, and opened the app.
She was dead. She was already dead, yes. Now she was
deader. I was going to see to it.
I brought up the video and opened my mouth to yell, but
she was gone. I sat down, stunned. The video showed only a
white screen and nothing else.
“Ruthie?” I asked, my tone wary. I waited. Nothing. Then
I panicked. “Ruthie!”
After a minute, she stumbled onto the screen, unkempt,
her hair in disarray. Did that mean the departed did sleep?
“Where have you been?” I asked in a state of near panic.
She looked around. “Right here. Where else would I be?”
“You weren’t there.”
“I had things to do.”
“Grandma, you are stuck inside the veil, apparently for all
eternity. What could you possibly have to do?”
 After a quick glance of surprise—why she would be
surprised by my outburst, I had no idea—she recovered with
the barest hint of a smile, and said, “Well, I do have a life,
Defiance.” She brushed lint o her clothes and sni ed. “Or, I
did.”
“You told Mr. Touma I was taking over for you.” My tone
was not gentle. Nor quiet.
“I told everyone you were taking over for me.”
“Why would you do that?” I grabbed my hair and dropped
my forehead onto the table. “Why would you give people
false hope?”
“You?” she asked with a snort. “False hope? Defiance
Ti any Dayne, I keep telling you—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” I looked up at her. “I’m a witch. I get
it even though thus far we have seen exactly bupkis of my
supposed skills. And now the entire town thinks I’m the
second coming.”
Her expression softened. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
“Mr. Touma. That’s what happened. And I can’t help
him.”
“Oh, no. Mrs. Touma?”
“Yes. Wait.” I let go of my hair and straightened. “You do
it. You can find her, right? I mean, you’re dead. Can’t you
guys move through walls and stu ?”
“No, Defiance, it doesn’t work that way. I mean, maybe.
All I know is that I can’t just cross the veil. That’s why I had
to create the spell. So I could communicate with you.”
“Then you’re stuck on the other side?”
“For now. Even if I could cross, there’s no guarantee I
could see you. It’s di erent here.”
“What can I do?” I asked, miserable. I couldn’t go on like
this. People coming to me for help and me being about as
useful as a screen door on a submarine.
“You can do this, Dephne. I know you can.”
 “Ruthie—”
“No. No more second-guessing. Keep hold of that
emotion. That feeling of powerlessness.”
“Oh, that baby’s not going anywhere. I guarantee it.”
“Good. Now, take that emotion and turn it. Use it,
Defiance. Bend it to your will.”
“You mean, like, make it my bitch?”
She covered her mouth with a delicate hand and coughed,
then said, “Yes, sweetheart. Make it your bitch.”
“Who are you making your bitch?” Annette asked,
shu ing into the kitchen and rubbing her eyes. “God, it’s so
bright.” She shoved her glasses on. They sat crooked on her
adorable nose, and her mop of brown hair, which had been
pulled into a ponytail, stuck out in every direction
imaginable. She stopped and frowned at me. “What time is
it?”
“Co ee time for me. You go back to bed.”
“Nope. I’m here for you. That’s what besties are for. I’ll
make the co ee. How much wine did I have?”
“Enough for both of us.”
“Figures. I never could turn down a good Moscato.”
I watched her shu e to the pot, my mind resembling her
hair, going in every direction imaginable. In every direction
except the one it needed to go.
“Ruthie, what if I can’t do this?” I chewed on a nail for a
few seconds, then said what I was sure everyone was
thinking. “What if it’s gone?”
“Defiance,” she said, her voice soft, “look at me.”
I looked.
“Stop chewing your nails.”
I dropped my hand.
“I want you to do something for me.”
“Kay.”
 “There’s a silver tray on the hutch in the dining room. Go
get it and bring it here.”
“Kay.”
After uncovering the hutch, I found a silver tray with a
silver tea set atop it. I cleared it o and brought the tray
back. “Got it.”
“Make sure you can see your reflection in it, then prop it
up against something.”
I braced it against the napkin holder.
Annette sat beside me, once again pushing a cup of co ee
across to me. “Is this some kind of spell?” she asked.
“No. This is some kind of kick in the seat. A kickstart, if
you will. What do you see?”
After releasing a lungful of air, I shrugged. “I see me.”
“No. Actually, my love, you don’t. What do you see?”
“Okay, me only distorted.”
“Nope again.”
“Ruthie, I don’t understand.”
“What do you see? Describe that woman to me.”
I pressed my mouth together and studied the woman in
the mirror. Looked at all of her flaws. All of her
shortcomings. Sadly, there were a lot. “I see a woman who’s
so broke she doesn’t know where her next meal is coming
from.”
“Better. What else?”
“I see a woman so stupid, she let a backstabbing snake
steal everything she’s ever worked for right out from under
her.”
“What else?”
“I see a talentless wannabe who’s out of luck, out of
shape, and running out of time.”
“And that, my dear, is why you can’t summon your
powers.”
 “Right. I get it. I just need to see the beautiful person
inside and love her for who she is and all my dreams will
come true?”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, thank God.” I didn’t need a pep talk from my dearly
departed grandmother, no matter how awesome she was.
“Defiance Dayne is a beautiful person. Inside and out. But
she needs to shut up, sit down, and pay attention to the
other thing lingering in her periphery. That thing she sent to
the corner. That she’s hidden in the darkest recesses of her
mind. You know exactly which one I’m talking about. The
thing you are most afraid of because it is so dark and so
bright and so powerful, it will change everything you’ve ever
known about the world you live in. And change, my dear,
good or bad, is scary.”
“I’ve heard that,” Annette said from behind her cup.
“Now, tell me again what you see, only let the thing come
out and play. What does it see?”
For some insanely bizarre reason, everything she just said
made perfect sense.
“Let it get a good look. What do you see, now?”
“I see a woman so broke, she has nowhere to go but up.”
I saw her smile in my periphery. “What else?”
“I see a woman who let a backstabbing snake steal
everything she’s ever worked for right out from under her,
so she has to work doubly hard to rebuild her life and take
back what she’s owed.”
She crossed her arms, her chin rising. “What else?”
I gazed at the distorted reflection. Slowed my breathing.
Decelerated my heartbeats. The world fell from beneath my
feet, and I heard my grandmother’s voice from somewhere
far away.
“What else, Defiance? What else do you see?”
 “I see a woman born of royal blood who can bend luck to
her will. Who can shape matter as she pleases. Who can
command time to do her bidding.”
“And what would you do, Defiance Dayne, to help those
who need you most?”
My voice, though I recognized it, seemed to come from
somewhere else. I lowered my head, gazed into my own eyes,
and spoke words I had not said since I was a kid. “I would set
the world on fire.”
And then, as though someone else were controlling me,
something else, I raised a hand to the tray and drew a
symbol with two fingers, my movements automatic. The
symbol was none of the ones Ruthie showed me. This one
was di erent. But I knew it to the depths of my being.
Power.
It flowed through my fingers, sparking and cracking the
fabric of reality. Light bled from each line I drew until the
symbol was complete and a power like I’d never felt before
exploded inside me.
My soul, the very essence of my being, caught fire.
I couldn’t see it was so bright. I couldn’t hear it was so
loud. Flames rushed through me, burning me from the inside
out.
What no one had bothered to mention, which in hindsight
would have been nice, was that it hurt. This power waiting in
the darkness. It scorched every cell in my body. The pain was
so fierce, I couldn’t catch my breath. I was strapped to an
electric chair that no one would turn o .
I fell to the ground and stumbled to the stairs. I needed
cold. I needed ice and snow and then a really good salve
because this was going to leave a mark.
Someone was screaming and I realized it was me, only I
was screaming from somewhere else. From another plane of
existence. I thought that odd since I was clearly on this one.
Maybe my voice was bouncing through space and time. Or
my soul was trying to escape the body in which it was
trapped.
My knees hit the stairs as I stumbled up them, tripping on
every single one.
I reached the bathroom then fell again. I just wanted to
feel the rush of cold water. To soothe. To douse the flames.
Before I could crawl another inch, I felt my consciousness
slipping away. The tile floor felt good against my face. It
wasn’t enough. I was going to burn to death here on the
floor. I knew it.
Then I felt arms around me. They lifted me o the floor.
“Water,” I said to whomever had picked me up. “Cold.”
The shower curtains were shoved aside then I was lifted
over the edge of the clawfoot. Strong hands turned the
handles and water, sweet icy water, washed over me.
I lifted my face to the frigid streams and heard him.
Roane. He held me upright from behind and spoke softly into
my ear, his warm breath fanning across my cheek.
“You’re okay.”
His arms were like a vise around me. Firm. Unyielding.
The length of his body against mine was almost as soothing
as the cold water.
I lay my head back against his shoulder and let the water
douse the wildfire inside me.
“You’re okay,” he said again, his voice as smooth as
Tennessee whiskey.
I wrapped my arms over his and sank against him. His
hold tightened and he pulled me closer, his mouth brushing
over my ear and along my cheek. He just held me there under
the stream of icy water, getting soaked himself.
And then it hit me like the boulder in a Roadrunner
cartoon. It was real. It was all real. Everything Ruthie had
said, no matter how unfathomable. It was all real.
 A part of me never believed it. A part of me wondered if
Ruthie weren’t still alive somewhere, perhaps Skyping from
a villa in France. Yet here I was, being held by a god while he
ran cold tap water in the physical world over the flames that
had engulfed me in the spiritual one.
An emotion spread throughout my body; I just didn’t
know which one it was. Amazement? Disbelief? Elation? All
of the above?
My chest swelled with both relief and dread. I
straightened and turned to him. Water dripped down his
face. He smoothed back his hair with one hand, keeping me
steady with the other.
“It’s all real,” I said.
He nodded, a knowing expression softening the
concerned lines on his face. “It is.”
“How is that even possible?”
The grin that lifted one corner of his mouth set me on fire
once again, only this time it was concentrated in my nether
regions. “I only work here, beautiful.”
I let out a breathy laugh.
He called me beautiful.
Then I realized he was fully clothed. As was I. Both of us
soaking wet.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” I pushed open the curtain
and reached for a towel, only almost toppling over three
times to get to it. Thankfully, he had yet to let go.
I draped the towel over his head and patted his face dry
before smoothing it over his hair. It sat around his shoulders
like a boxer coming out for a fight.
Then I grabbed his shoulders and gazed into his eyes.
“Please, for the love of all things holy, tell me this isn’t
going to ruin your kilt.”
He laughed under his breath. “It’ll be fine.”
Thank you, Jesus.
 “Better?” he asked.
I nodded.
He turned o the water then took the towel from around
his neck and dried my face, brushing it softly over my skin.
Then he squeezed my hair with it, ringing out most of the
water.
He had to reach around me to do so, and I put my hands
on his chest to steady myself. His mouth was gorgeous, his
lips fuller than most male’s and sculpted to absolute
perfection. I reached up and ran my fingertips along them.
Surprised, he stopped and looked down at me through
lashes spiked with wetness. The e ect shot hot daggers
straight to my abdomen.
Slowly, as though he wanted to savor the moment, he
bent his head, his lips coming close enough to mine to feel
the electricity arc between us.
Then he stopped. His brows cinched together and he
raised us, tilting his head to the side. “Your grandmother.
She’s calling to you.”
I listened, too. Heard nothing. Still . . . “I guess I better get
back down there.”
He nodded, but before I could move, he lifted me in his
arms and over the edge to set me down on a chenille rug. He
climbed out without letting me go to make sure I had my
footing.
“Thank you,” I said, the words so hollow they echoed.
How did one thank someone for saving their life?
He wrapped the towel around my shoulders. “Don’t
mention it. I’d be glad to help you shower any time.”
A zing rushed through me and I knew I had to get out of
there before I attacked him. I hurried toward the door but
couldn’t help a quick glance over my shoulder for one more
look. The wet T-shirt that was molded to the hills and
valleys of his muscles was something to see. If I ever opened
a bar, I was totally hosting wet T-shirt contests.
He tilted his head as though curious why I would look at
him like that. I’d have to explain it to him someday.
 SEVEN

I’m a middle-aged woman with an Etsy store.

I have hot flashes and a rotary cutter.
Any questions?
-T-shirt

I hurried downstairs, my slippers sloshing on the wood

floors, which couldn’t be good for them.
“Grandma?” I said when I got to the kitchen.
“Oh, Defiance.” She was in tears, her hands covering her
mouth.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Are you okay?”
“I am. I just . . . got really hot.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.” She pressed her
hands to her chest. “Thank you, my darling girl, for letting
me witness what few will ever see in their lifetime.”
“A woman on fire?”
“The rebirth of a true, blood-born charmling.”
“You couldn’t have mentioned the fire?”
“I’ve just never seen . . . That was . . .” She waved a hand
over her face. “You were magnificent.”
 “Most people on fire are.”
I finally glanced at Annette. She was holding a cup of
co ee in both hands, only her eyes visible over the rim, and
they were saucers.
“Annette?” I slid into the seat next to her. “Annette, talk
to me.”
Her gaze slowly shifted my way. “I don’t know if you’re
aware of this, but I don’t think most witches can do that.”
“No. No, they can’t,” Ruthie said. “However, you just sent
up a beacon. They’ll know where you are now. You must raise
the protection spell. You must di use the footprint of your
energy, or every witch powerful enough to feel it will be
knocking on your door. Most will only want to meet you.
Others, however, who will stop at nothing to take it. And the
hunters . . .” She gave a delicate shudder.
“Can I dry o first?”
A breathy laugh escaped her. “Yes. Also, that took a lot of
energy. You need to rest, but only for a couple of hours,
okay?”
I’d just been burned alive. I wasn’t sure how much rest I
would get. With electricity crackling through me, both
painful and exhilarating, I walked upstairs, hoping to catch
another glimpse of tall, dark, and inked. I had to ask myself
why he was here in the wee hours of morn? He always
seemed to appear out of nowhere then disappear just as
mysteriously.
I searched the second floor for him where he’d been
working on the bathrooms. Nothing. No sign of any other
living being besides Ink, who sat on Ruthie’s bed with a
come-hither stare, tail wagging seductively, and Annette,
who sat on Ruthie’s bed with a blank stare, no tail wagging,
seductively or otherwise. Which was a shame, really.
“You okay, Nette?”
 She’d leaned back against the headboard, her back sti ,
her face void of emotion. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice
feigning lightness.
I tried to stroke Ink’s fur. He was apparently feeling
feisty. He went into attack mode, twisted onto his back, and
sank his teeth and claws into my flesh. I sucked a sharp
breath in through my teeth and tried to dislodge him. It was
like pulling out cactus needles.
Annette sat oblivious. I had to do something. To snap her
out of it. I thought about slapping her like they did in the
movies but thought better of it. Mostly because she could
kick my ass.
I cleared my throat instead and said as nonchalantly as
possible, “Roane took a shower with me.”
She jerked out of her stupor so fast I worried she’d get
whiplash. “What?”
I fought a giggle.
“What did you say?”
“That spell thing burned.”
She wilted. “Yes. I heard the screams.”
“He helped me into the shower, only he got in, too. To
hold me steady.”
Guilt commandeered the lines on her face. She lowered
her head and studied the comforter, smoothing it with her
fingertips. “I should have come to help you, Deph. I heard
the screams and I did nothing.”
“Nette, don’t you dare put that on yourself. There was
nothing you could have done.”
“I was just . . . I was so stunned. I couldn’t move.”
“You were in shock.”
“No, it was like I was paralyzed.”
“Maybe the spell had something to do with it.”
“It must have because I honestly couldn’t move. I was
shocked, yes, but you were screaming and I just sat there.
Being shocked. It’s not like me.”
“No, it’s not.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t
your fault. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
“Wait, he got in, too?”
My mouth widened. “He did.”
“Did he happen to get naked first?”
“Sadly, no. We both got drenched.”
She scooted down until her head was on her pillow. “How
did drenched look on him?”
I graced her with a devilish grin, one that would leave
little doubt in her mind. Just in case, however, I added, “You
have no idea.”
“Oh, man. I have got to see this guy. Wait!” She bolted
upright and leveled a pleading stare on me. “Is the . . . is the
kilt okay?”
I laughed out loud.
“Please, tell me it’s okay.”
We thought so much alike. “He says it’ll be fine. But we
might want to find a kilt store to make sure we have a
backup.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “We’re good. I have several
bookmarked. So, like, where is he? Does he have his own
house? Why was he here so early?”
“I have no idea.” I sat nibbling on a hangnail, mourning
the loss of my manicurist, one of the luxuries that had to go.
“I’ve been wondering that myself. I may have to get the
lowdown on our mysterious Mr. Wildes from Ruthie.”
“Good idea.” Her lids sat at half-mast as sleep took over.
“She’s kind of amazing.”
“I agree.”
Her breathing evened out instantly, which was hilarious
since Ink had decided her hair was a multifaceted chew toy.
I reached over, removed her glasses, and put them on the
nightstand where I’d put Ruthie’s book of shadows. I set it
on my lap and opened it to run my fingers over a couple of
pages. If she did write in it, her pen left no indentions.
Maybe I could find a recipe to reveal invisible ink online.
Until then, I decided to give it my best shot.
Granted, the first time I actually succeeded in creating
magics did not really go well and a blinding pain consumed
me for what seemed like an eternity, surely it wouldn’t be
like that every time. If so, magic sucked.
Zero stars.
Would not recommend.
Keeping in mind that this was my grandmother’s journal
where her most private thoughts were written, her darkest
secrets recorded, I wanted to treat the artifact with the
respect it deserved.
I wanted to. I did not succeed.
The thought of uncovering information about my only
living-up-until-a-few-days-ago relative had me positively
giddy. But according to said woman, I needed to rest. To
prepare for the protection spell. It would take a lot out of me.
As long as it didn’t light me on fire, I’d be good as gold.
I glanced out the massive window. Dawn was just
beginning to bleed across the horizon, and I had yet to sleep
a wink. Still, no time like the present to uncover the past.
Now I just had to figure out what symbol to use. I was
supposedly born knowing the charmling language. Surely,
like the protection spell, it would magically pop into my
head. Because, while I may have been born knowing the
language, I lost that knowledge along with memories of
cutting my first set of teeth and the horrific details of my
birth. Some things are better left forgotten.
Playing a less lethal form of Russian Roulette, I flipped
through the journal and stopped on a random page.
This was it. This would be the true test. Could I do this
one my own? Could I show what had been hidden?
 Even as I thought the words, an image began to form.
Reveal.
I realized it really was a language. While most magics
used a spoken form of delivery for manifestation, like with
spells and such, charmling magic used something much
older. The symbols were basically the same spells, only in a
single word using an ancient form of pictographs. Like
Egyptian hieroglyphs or Chinese characters. Where a symbol
was used to represent a word or phrase.
This knowledge unfolded in my head like I’d opened a
book in my mind, and everything I needed to know was
inside. Only parts of it were blurry. Parts of it made no sense.
And parts of it were downright dark, deliberately covered in
shadows and fog. It would take a lot more to reveal those
than what I had to o er at the moment.
The one I was looking for stood out, as though magnified
in bold font on the page. The lines glowing. The edges razor
sharp. And my hand took over.
I drew the shape over the page with two fingers, my
movements automatic. The lines caught fire. Light seeped
out of them as I drew each streak, each loop with infinite
care. It scorched the air, yet I couldn’t tell if the light was
real or only in my head. If anyone besides me could see it.
The fire I’d felt before, the blistering electricity, ignited
and rushed over my skin, though not nearly as powerfully as
before. The pain was manageable as I completed the symbol.
It was only after I’d finished that I realized I’d bitten down
so hard my jaw ached. My left hand had gripped the edge of
the book so tightly my fingers trembled. And every muscle in
my body had constricted to the point of rigor mortis.
It worked, though. Letters began seeping through the
paper. Words began forming. A date. A place. A name.
The words shocked me. What I read surprised me to such
a degree that I lost what little concentration I’d had, and the
ink began to disappear. I read it again as quickly as I could,
but only managed to decipher one complete sentence. A
single line that changed everything.
According to her own journal, my grandmother had been
accused of murder. Of killing a man. And if I read that next
line correctly before it disappeared, she was guilty.
I slammed the book shut so hard the room quaked. Either
that or I woke up Percy.
“Sorry, Percy,” I whispered to him.
Thankfully my reaction didn’t faze Annette. Though it did
manage to scare poor Ink half to death. He tore o the bed
and sprinted down the hall as I sat gaping into oblivion.
Murder? My grandmother? My mind could not reconcile
those two concepts.
I slipped out of bed and walked to the stairs, only I was
starting to feel a bit woozy. The edges of my vision blurred
then darkened and I remembered thinking how pretty the
wood floor was right before my face hit it.

I WOKE up on the sofa with a throw pillow underneath my

head and a warm cloth on top of it. I bolted upright, paused
to let the world stop spinning, then hurried to the kitchen.
Then I smelled food. Eggs frying and bacon sizzling and
bread toasting. My mouth watered and I entered the kitchen
fully prepared to beg for a bite. I was not above selling my
soul to the chef.
Roane stood in front of the industrial stove in an army
green T-shirt and his requisite kilt. This one was darker than
the one he’d been wearing. Almost black.
“Ms. Dayne,” he said without turning around.
“Breakfast?”
“Did I pass out or something?”
 “Or something. How do you like your eggs?”
That was a tough one. On the one hand, I liked them over
medium. On the other, I liked them fertilized. The clock was
ticking on my particular egg supply, after all. My storage
unit was almost empty if it weren’t already.
Still, I didn’t want to scare Roane. To send him packing.
Percy needed a lot of help.
“Over medium.”
“You got it.”
“How did I get to the sofa?”
“With help.” He scooped two eggs onto a plate with a
couple of slices of bacon and some toast, the movement
causing his biceps to flex, and I had to tear my gaze o them
when he turned toward me.
It was a sad moment in the annals of Defiance the Dayne.
Yet that was the exact moment I realized what a mess I
must be. I hadn’t done anything to help my appearance since
I caught fire a couple of hours ago. God only knew what my
hair looked like. I could only hope my face wasn’t disfigured
from the fall.
I smoothed down my hair and took the plate from him.
“Thanks.”
He gave me a quick once over and every insecurity I’d felt
since the day I was born flared up inside me. Seriously, did I
really need to wear Frozen pajamas? I hadn’t even applied
moisturizer. Or mascara. And where was a bra when I needed
one?
I ever-so-nonchalantly wrapped my free arm over the
girls and sat at the table.
After pouring us both a cup of co ee, he handed mine to
me and started to head out. But there were certain things I
needed to know. And his disappearing acts were becoming a
nuisance.
“Aren’t you eating?” I asked.
 He paused and turned back but kept his gaze low. I must
have looked worse than I thought.
“Already ate.”
“Please stay a minute.”
He bit down as though weighing the pros and cons, before
folding his large frame into a chair across from me.
“You know, Annette thinks you’re a figment of my
imagination.”
A grin that could make a retired nun ovulate brightened
his face. “What do you think?”
“I think, luckily for me, you show up at some pretty
opportune times.”
“So, no?”
“Probably not. Where do you live?”
He took a sip then gave me his full attention. “Close by.”
“Vague much?” I asked with a laugh. “What if I need to
contact you?”
He reached over, his nearness intoxicating, his scent part
laundry soap and part sandalwood, and took my phone. After
holding it up to my face to unlock it, he punched in some
numbers and gave it back. “Now I’m no farther away than a
push of a button.”
For reasons I couldn’t possibly fathom—as if—that made
me giddy.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“Since I caught fire? Or since I fell on my face? Either
way, thank you. The fire thing really sucked, though.”
He chuckled, the sound husky and alluring. “I’m sure it
did. But it worked, right? It did the trick?”
This time I put my fork down and gave him my full
attention. “Do you know about me?”
“Your grandmother told me a few things.”
“She’s living in my computer. Ruthie.”
“Not sure why, but that doesn’t surprise me.”
 “Want to say hi?”
“I’d love to.” Like talking to the dead through some astral
projection of Skype was an everyday occurrence. He was
openminded. I’d give him that.
I opened my laptop and watched as Ruthie stood
motionless beyond the veil. Her blond ‘do coi ed to
perfection. And, if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d applied
lipstick. Roane came around and took the chair beside me,
his nearness sending fireworks bursting across my skin, and
I hoped it wasn’t the magic making another impromptu
appearance.
He tilted his head toward mine for a better view and we
waited.
And waited.
“Ruthie?” I said after a minute. “What are you doing?”
She stayed stock still. Not moving. Not blinking. Not
breathing. But that was probably a given.
“Um, Ruthie? We have company.”
“I’m on pause,” she said at last.
“I didn’t pause you. You’re real. There’s no pause button
on reality.”
She grinned. “There is for you, darling girl. Hi, Roane.”
“Hi, Mrs. Goode,” he said, his voice infused with humor.
“Wait. Doesn’t this surprise you?” I asked. He was so
nonchalant about it. “I mean, she died. Aren’t you a little
freaked?”
“Nothing your grandmother does surprises me anymore.”
“Mmmm,” I mmmed. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” I stabbed
Ruthie with my best accusatory glower. “What about—” I
paused for dramatic e ect “—murder?”
He lifted his gaze and thought a moment. Bouncing back,
he said, “Nope. Not that either.”
“What are you talking about, Defiance?”
“Your journal.”
 “My book of shadows?” The shock on her face told me
everything I needed to know. She’d done it. She’d really
killed someone.
Well, she’d better have a damn good reason or this
relationship was coming to a complete and abrupt end.
“That’s right. I read it. Well, one page of it. Actually, just
a couple of lines, but I read it. You were accused of murder
and, according to your own words in your own journal, you
were guilty.”
She blinked in rapid succession. I’d busted her. What kind
of grandmother killed people?
“Defiance,” she said, her voice full of awe, “that would
take even the most powerful of witches weeks to break. It’s
like a highly-secured encrypted code that only a
supercomputer could break and even then it would take,
well, weeks.”
“So, I’m like a hacker?”
“You’re . . . incredi—”
“Also, I passed out.”
“You passed out? It must be the magics.”
“But I didn’t pass out when I caught fire.”
“Maybe the cold water helped,” Roane said.
“Yes.” Ruthie nodded. “That makes sense. Magics, all
magics, come at a cost. Apparently, even for charmlings.”
“Really? Hold on.” I raised an index finger to stop her.
She wasn’t going to distract me again. “I just accused you of
murder. We need to stay on the topic at hand. Have you
murdered anyone? Yes or no?”
“P t.” She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Murder is such an ugly word.”
“Grandma, did you kill a man?”
“Of course. I’ve killed three men, including your
grandfather, Percy, but that was kind of his own fault.”
 EIGHT

Karma’s just sharpening her nails

and finishing her drink.
She’ll be with you shortly.
-Meme

My jaw hung o its hinges as I sat gaping at my

grandmother for a solid sixty seconds. My mind was trying
to wrap itself around this new information: Ruthie Goode
was a murderer.
“You murdered my grandfather and then named the
house after him?”
She snorted. “Of course not. Technically, the house isn’t
named Percival. The man haunting it is. But over the years,
he just sort of became the house.” She spread her hands and
looked around as though she were right there with us.
“Why is my grandfather haunting the house?”
“Because I killed him here, dear. Do try to keep up. He’s
buried in the backyard. It’s okay, though. He hardly ever
resurfaces. If he does, you can rent a backhoe from Kevin at
North Shore Pizza and Equipment Rentals.”
 I scooted my chair back and gaped at her some more.
Then at Roane. Apparently, that was my thing. “Did you
know about this?”
“Defiance,” she said, her tone admonishing. “That’s very
rude.”
“Roane?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, nothing your
grandmother does surprises me. I will say this, though. If
she killed three men, they deserved it.” He winked at Ruthie
then stood and walked out without so much as a by-your-
leave. Not that he needed my permission.
“Ruthie, I don’t know what to think.”
“I do.” She beamed at me, her pretty face full of pride.
“You, my dear, are ready. If you can hack my book of
shadows, you are ready. You must get that protection spell
up.”
“First, I only hacked a couple of lines. Second, can we
discuss the fact that you’ve taken not one, not two, but three
lives?”
“Must we, darling? We need to get that spell—”
“—up. I get it. But why?”
“You’re vulnerable.”
“No, I mean, why did you kill three men?”
“You do realize that you fit your namesake to a tee.”
I crossed my arms over the girls. “The deaths.”
She sat down on what I assumed was a cloud, because
what else would she sit on in the veil, and filled her lungs.
“First you have to make me a promise.”
“Fine.”
“Dephne, a promise, in our world, is as good as a blood
oath. You must keep it.”
“Okay, what’s the promise and I’ll tell you for certain one
way or the other.”
 “You must promise that if I tell you about the deaths, you
will then raise the protection spell. Or die trying. No more
questions. No more stalling.”
I hadn’t been stalling. Nevertheless, I agreed with a
solemn nod.
“I’ll start with the most recent.”
Wait, tie trying?
“The third man I killed was named Andrew Stemple. He
was well on his way to becoming the most famous man in
Massachusetts history. He was the next John Wayne Gacy.”
I left it alone. “He was a serial killer?”
“We aren’t certain he had reached the minimum kill
requirement for that designation. Either way, if he hadn’t, he
was getting there. We do know that he killed at least two
children. The police were looking into him when a good
friend’s daughter went missing.”
“Oh, Grandma,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“They came straight to me. I did a spell, but I’m not like
you, dear girl. I have traditional magics. They are nowhere
near what you are capable of, so I couldn’t narrow a location
down enough for the mob—”
“There was a mob?”
“By the time I’d finished the spell, yes. They’d gathered
at my door. All anger and hellfire. I knew if I sent them to the
scour the area, they could tip Andrew o and he could kill
the girl before they got to him.”
I leaned in, completely absorbed. “What did you do?”
“We, actually. I sent the men to a warehouse that, while
close, I knew was not the actual location of Andrew’s
hideout. Then I called an old friend who was on the force.”
“The police force?” I asked, surprised.
She nodded. “He picked me up and we searched the
backyards for the storage shed I’d caught a glimpse of in my
vision. I was so panicked by that point. I knew the girl was
still alive, but I also knew she wouldn’t be for much longer.”
“I can’t imagine what that felt like.”
“I hope you never have to.”
“Wait. On the force? He wouldn’t happen to be a tall
wide-shouldered black man with sparkling eyes and a killer
smile?”
“Maybe.”
“You dragged Chief Metcalf into this?”
She deadpanned me. “He wasn’t the chief yet, and he
knew what he was getting into when he signed up to be my
friend. May I continue?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“In the meantime, the mob realized I’d sent them to the
wrong place and went back to the house. When they found
me gone, they were not happy, but if they’d scared Andrew,
he would have killed her instantly. I could see how unstable
he was.”
“What happened?”
She raised her brows as the memories flooded her mind.
“I finally saw the storage shed. Houston parked the car and
we made a plan. He went in through the front and I climbed
in through a window in the back.”
“He didn’t call for backup?”
“We couldn’t risk it. But, of course, Andrew heard me. It
was a small window and I wasn’t exactly known for my
prowess.”
My hands drifted up to cover my mouth.
“He took the girl hostage. Held a gun to her head as I
stood there, helpless. Houston came up from behind and
knocked him unconscious and I ran to the girl. Houston
picked her up and I hugged them, then Andrew came to. Or
he’d faked being unconscious. Either way, when I opened my
eyes, he was standing behind Houston, gun pointed at his
head, already pulling the trigger.”
“Oh, no.”
“It was instinct, really. I pushed every ounce of magic I
had at him. Every molecule of energy. I watched as his head
twisted on his body.” She sat there for a long moment, lost
in the past.
“Grandma?”
“The snap is what I remember most. His neck breaking. It
was so loud.”
I wished I could reach into the veil and hug her. “That’s
not murder. I mean—” I shook my head “—you saved that
girl’s life.”
“He was so odd. His whole life, an outsider. I thought it
sad until that night. He looked like Steve Buscemi only not as
handsome.”
That made me smile. “What did the mob do?”
She lowered her head. “Houston lied for me. Told the
girl’s parents he’d fought him and broke his neck during the
altercation.”
“When did this happen?”
She snapped back to the present and shrugged. “About
five years after Percy passed.”
“Was he your second? Percival?”
She shook her head. “The second involved an intruder
and my double barrel Smith and Wesson.”
“That’ll do it. Is that the one you were accused of murder
for?”
“No.” She lowered her head again, and I was beginning to
feel guilty about forcing her to tell me these stories. Forcing
her to drudge up the past, memories she clearly wanted to
stay buried.
Not guilty enough to stop her, apparently.
 “No. That man had been breaking and entering houses all
over town. He even put an elderly woman in the hospital
when she caught him and, for reasons unknown, tried to
stop him with a fly swatter. I decided not to try.” She leveled
an austere expression on me. “I decided to do.”
God, my grandmother was a badass. “You’re like Yoda,
but that’s still not murder.”
“I guess not.”
“One more, then,” I said. “My grandfather.” I stood to
refresh my co ee and grab another slice of bacon.
“Yes, your grandfather.”
Sitting down again, I asked, “Was this before I was born
or after?”
“Before. Long before.”
A soft shudder echoed through the house. I looked
around.
“Is he there?” she asked me.
“I think so. Does he not want us talking about him?”
“Probably not, but it’s not up to him.”
Another shudder shook the ground, this one softer.
“I don’t think he’s too upset.”
“It wouldn’t matter either way,” she said, glancing past
me as though talking directly to her late husband. “It was
your own fault.”
No reaction that time.
“What happened?”
“First love,” she said, a whimsical smile on her face. “You
know how we girls seem to be most attracted to the worst
life has to o er? The rebellious ones?”
“The ones with a dark side?” I asked with a laugh. “I
wouldn’t know anything about that.” Though that certainly
described my ex to a tee. And I’d been more than old enough
to know better.
 “Exactly. That was Percy. Don’t let his name fool you. He
was a bad boy even in the witch world.”
She had me practically drooling for more. “He was a
witch, too?” I asked, surprised.
“He was. Unfortunately, he liked to experiment with
darker magics. The stu most witches steer clear of.”
I sat with a half-eaten slice of bacon hovering near my
mouth. “Black magic? That’s a real thing?”
“It is.”
“I thought it was just a song. What happened?”
“Like many before him, he went too far. Sank too deep.
Got mixed up with some unsavory types and they tried
things they should never have tried.”
“Tried what?” I couldn’t even begin to imagine.
She dipped her head and bit her lower lip. “Resurrection.”
“From the dead?” I practically screeched the question,
then I winced. That was loud. Still, resurrection?
“Once that dark magic gets a hold of you . . . It became an
addiction, and he couldn’t stop, until one day, something he
brought back killed his best friend.”
I stilled. Annette was going to kill me for letting her miss
this. “Something . . . something he brought back?”
“It sliced through him like butter. He’d been mauled to
death. Deep gashes all over his body.”
I scooted back from the table in horror. “What the hell did
he bring back? A werewolf?”
“I honestly don’t know. He said he took care of it. It
didn’t matter at that point. I gave him an ultimatum. The
magic or me.”
“Oh, yeah. Willow went through that.”
“He chose the magic.” Her eyes glistened, but she raised
her chin with her signature grace.
“I’m sorry, Grandma.” She looked at me in surprise,
though I couldn’t imagine why. “Is that why you killed
him?”
“No. Heavens no. We never use our magics for revenge.
Karma is a real thing, Defiance.”
The nod I gave her bordered on frenetic it was so
vigorous. I raised my bacon. “Big believer.”
“I didn’t see him for two years after that. Your mother
was twelve when he next showed up on our doorstep. He was
a mess. Full of so much darkness. So much . . . well, evil. He
couldn’t shake it and he wanted to die but it wouldn’t let him
do it himself.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The black magic. It wouldn’t let him take his own life.”
“It . . . it can control you?”
“The dark magics can, yes. That’s why we don’t mess
with them unless we have absolutely no other choice.”
“What happened? You took his life for him?”
“I did. I begged him to let me try to purify him, but he
refused. He told me something I will never, ever forget. And I
don’t want you to forget it either, Defiance.”
“Okay.” I held my breath.
“He told me he would rather die than live without it.”
“It really is like a drug.”
“A powerful one. It was eating him alive but he would
rather have died than live without the thing inside him.”
“I’m sorry, Grandma How did you . . . how did he . . .?”
“It took my entire coven, actually.
“Covens are real?”
“As a heart attack. We had to trap him in a ritual circle
and burn him with a kind of magical fire. It was a slow and
agonizing death.” Her hand shot to her mouth, the memory
breaking her heart.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll shut up now. We can do the spell thing.
Or, you know, die trying.”
“Thank you,” she said.
 “Oh, wait.”
“Defiance.”
“Real quick, was his death the one that got you accused of
murder?”
“Yes. But it’s di cult to prove a case of witchcraft these
days. Not that the DA wasn’t determined. He just had no
evidence. And no body.”
“Do you have a picture? I didn’t see any of him on the
walls.”
Her walls were covered in old pictures of women going
back several generations. No men. I hadn’t even wondered
why until now.
“In the hutch. The drawer on the left.”
I hurried and took out a framed picture of a man that
would’ve given Lucifer Morningstar a run for his money. The
picture was from the tragic fashion era of the seventies, yet
he didn’t just pull it o , he owned it. He had a certain
machismo. A je ne sais quoi. Inky black hair. Startlingly blue
eyes. A face so perfect
I brought it back with me. “Holy crap, Ruthie. I can see
the appeal.”
She laughed softly and the house vibrated with warmth.
He was such an eavesdropper.
“You look just like him,” she said.
My gaze darted up. “In my dreams.”
“You certainly didn’t get your looks from me.” She
flipped the ends of her blond hair.
“Who did my mother look like?”
“Him. Always him.” She said it so lovingly, I wanted to
ask her how my mother died, but I’d made a promise. That
story would have to wait.
“So, my grandfather just stuck around and became the
house?”
 “He did. And, by the way, dear, he’s not really buried in
the backyard.”
“Oh, thank God.” A wave of relief flooded every cell in my
body.
“He’s buried in the basement.”
Cancel that. I bit back a shudder of revulsion. “A place I
shall never see, then.”
“Oh, trust me, you want to see the basement.”
“Nope.”
“You do.”
“Never.”
“Trust me.”
“You couldn’t get me down there with a taser and a stick
of dynamite.” No idea what that meant. I picked up my cup
and stopped shaking my head long enough to take a sip.
“Roane lives there.”
I spat co ee all over her face—a.k.a., my laptop—then
proceeded to cough for the next five minutes.
“Trying your hand at swallowing, again?” Annette
strolled in like she owned the place. “Practice makes
perfect.”
She poured a cup while waiting for me to finish
convulsing.
I glared at Ruthie. “He’s been living in this house without
my knowledge? Aren’t there are laws against that?”
“You made breakfast?” Nette asked.
I bit down and decided to take revenge on the woman who
bore the woman who bore me. “My grandmother has killed
three men.”
Annette pressed her lips together, clearly impressed.
“That’s badass, Mrs. G.”
I rolled my eyes so far back into my head I worried they’d
get stuck that way, like my dads had warned me all those
years ago. I couldn’t see anything in that state. Then another
thought hit me.
“Wait, Roane lives in the basement with my departed
grandfather’s body?”
That got Annette’s attention. “What?”
“Yes,” Ruthie said. “Well, no. Not really. Only his bones.”
“Roane lives in the basement?”
“The spell we used to kill him seared the flesh right o
them. It was quite distressing. All I had to bury was his
skeleton.”
“The basement that sits directly below us?”
“Which made things much easier. You cannot imagine
how much a hundred-seventy-pound body weighs.”
“A hundred seventy pounds?” I guessed. Then I
envisioned her dragging a body into the basement..
“Grandma, that is the most disturbing thing you’ve said all
morning.”
A smile spread across her face.
“What?” I asked her, frustrated. “You keep smiling at me
like that. This is not a smiling matter.”
“You keep calling me Grandma.”
“Do I?”
She beamed at me for a solid three seconds before saying
admonishingly, “Don’t ever do that again. I’m Gigi. Short for
Grammy Goode. It’s what you called me when you were
little.”
“Gigi. I like it.” Gigi, I could handle. Grammy Goode? Not
so much.
“Can I call you Gigi?” Annette asked from over my
shoulder.
The woman smiled. “If I can call you Nan.”
“Mrs. Goode it is.” She turned her attention to me. “Did
you eat the last piece of bacon?”
 “Gigi,” I said, trying it on for size, “do you know what
happened to Roane when he was a kid? Parris said something
about his having a tragic past.”
“I do, but it’s not for me to say.”
I had a feeling she’d take the high road. Freaking morals.
“I will tell you that he didn’t talk because of it until he
was seven years old.”
“Seven?” I asked, a little heartbroken. What could’ve
happened to him to cause such a lapse in development? Or,
more likely, such an emotional barrier.
It made me want to get to know him even more. Like the
kilt hadn’t done that already.
 NINE

I was taught to think before I act.

So if I smack you, rest assured,
I’ve thought about it
and am confident in my decision.
-T-shirt

Gigi. I’d have to get used to that one. It felt right, though.
Like I did indeed have someone in my life named Gigi at
some point. It was probably her.
After an hour straight of failed attempts at the protection
spell, Ruthie thought that maybe taking a shower and
putting on something other than Frozen pajamas might help
relax me. I did feel like my nerves resembled my hair after
Annette had given me a perm in high school. Frazzled and
crunchy.
The shower felt amazing. Not quite as amazing as when
Roane helped me, but amazing nonetheless. I pulled back my
impossibly thick, black hair, which was a bit on the nose for
witchhood, and powdered my pale skin, making it look even
paler. Dory Markham in high school used to call me a
vampire. She wasn’t too far o the mark, apparently.
 After throwing on my last clean pair of jeans, a tan
sweater, and brown suede boots, I headed down to try to
protect myself from evildoers.
Turned out, however, there was one little thing wrong
with the protection spell Gigi wanted me to do. She didn’t
know what it looked like. Not exactly, though she did have a
couple of educated guesses.
“You don’t know?” she asked me after our first several
failed attempts. Panic raised her voice an octave.
“No. I thought you knew.” I began panicking, too.
“I don’t know the language. I told you. It’s almost
impossible to get any information. Charmlings are very well
protected.”
“At least they know the spell.”
“You know it,” Gigi said, pacing back and forth. “Let’s
think about this.” She stopped and assessed me. “Are you
concentrating?”
“Of course. Just in case, tell me what to concentrate on
again.”
She nodded in thought. “Okay, think about the fact that if
you don’t get this spell up, there are witches out there who
will come, suck the life out of you, and take your power for
themselves.”
“They sound like my ex. Isn’t there some kind of
authority to prevent such things? Some type of magical law
enforcement?”
“Like a council that governs our every move?”
“Exactly.”
“No. There are for certain covens, but not for the witching
world overall.”
“Well, I think that’s a terrible oversight. Someone needs
to have our backs.”
“Or try to control us.”
“True. I guess.”
 “There are powerful covens who take it upon themselves
to govern here and there. For the most part, however, we’re
on our own.”
“And you’re part of a coven, right?”
Her chin rose. “I am. You’ll meet them soon. They’re
looking forward to it. Actually, some of them are downright
giddy. Don’t be surprised if you acquire some serious fans.
You have quite the fanbase.”
“How is that possible?”
“Because of me, partially, but mostly because of all you
accomplished as a child.”
I stopped waving my arm like an idiot and turned back to
her. “What I accomplished as a child? What do you mean?
What did I accomplish as a child?”
“That is for another time. Protection spell.”
“Put your back into it,” Annette said, then she giggled
when I glared at her.
“After yesterday, I thought I’d have this down.”
“You do. You tapped into your source. Now you just need
to access the language. To learn how to bend it to your will.”
“If I can’t, I won’t be any good to anyone.”
“How did you read my book of shadows?”
“It just came to me. I thought about what I wanted to do,
and the spell just popped into my head.”
“Exactly. It’s in there. Do that.”
“I’ve been doing that.”
“Well, do it again.”
“Put your back into it,” Annette repeated. She had raided
Ruthie’s library and was reading a volume on herbs and their
di erent uses in the witch realm.
Fortunately for me, she took time out of her busy
schedule to toss me advice every so often. No idea where I’d
be without her. Probably better o , but would life be as fun? I
didn’t think so.
 “Do it again.” I shook it o . All of it. My failures. My
expectations. My poor eating habits. I shook it all o , danced
from foot to foot, rolled my head on my shoulders. I could do
this. As soon as I answered the door.
A knock sounded right in the middle of my homage to
Rocky.
“Defiance,” Ruthie said. “Get back here.”
“No can do, Gigi! My audience awaits. Or the mailman.
Either way.”
Fingers crossed this was not another loser. Of things.
Loser of things. I was all booked up with zero talent to do
anything about it. If anyone else needed something found,
they’d just have to come back in my next life. Maybe I’d have
my shit together by then. Doubtful, but I liked to think
positive.
I opened the door and, honestly, if Mahatma Gandhi were
standing there, I would’ve been less surprised.
“Kyle?” I asked, staring at my own reflection in my ex’s
shades.
His mother stood right beside him, craning her neck to
get a better look at Percival. I felt dirty for him.
“What are you doing here?” Better yet, how did they find
me? Why would they even want to?
He pushed past me to come inside. His mother followed.
“Come in,” I said before closing the door.
Annette came to see who it was and stopped short. Her
face flushed and her curls seemed to vibrate with anger.
“Annette,” I said, my tone warning.
She spoke through clenched teeth. “What the hell are they
doing here?”
“Go back to the kitchen and keep Gigi company.” I had no
clue why my ex and his Machiavellian mother would be here,
but I didn’t need Annette escalating what promised to be an
already explosive situation, especially since her nickname in
high school was Nitro. As in nitroglycerin. As in unstable AF.
Erina perched her taut ass on the edge of the wingback,
crinkling her nose at the décor. “It’s a little dank, don’t you
think?”
“Your face is a little dank,” Annette said.
“Annette, it’s okay. You can go back to the kitchen.”
She looked me up and down and said softly so only I could
hear, “There is only one way I’m leaving you alone with
them, and unless you suddenly figure out how to wield that
magic productively, that ain’t happening.”
She strode in, tore a sheet o another chair, and plopped
down in it.
Kyle sat on the couch and since I wasn’t about to sit next
to him, I remained standing. “What do you want?”
He spread his hands and glanced around, indicating
Percy. What the actual fuck? He already took everything.
How did he think for a moment he’d end up with Percy, too?
And why did he even want him?
“You didn’t declare this during the divorce proceedings,”
he said.
“I didn’t have this during the divorce proceedings.”
“Oh, please,” Erina said.
Erina Julson was a mixture of gentle breeding and the
belly of a snake. The part that slithers across the hot desert
sand. She had perfectly coi ed mahogany hair with eyes to
match. While Gigi was the picture of elegance and grace,
Erina was a facsimile. A wannabe. A low-quality photocopy. I
never realized how much so until now.
“You had to know you were coming into this property. I
find it very suspicious that hardly a month has gone by since
the divorce and you just magically end up with a property
worth a fortune.”
 She had no idea how magical it was. “I had no clue I was
going to get this,” I said, not that it mattered. She would
never believe me. I could tell her orange juice came from
oranges and she’d call me a liar. To my face. While hers bore
a sinister smile.
Annette chimed in. Again. Unwantedly. “I find it very
suspicious that your anti-aging cream is doing such a poor
job. You should look into that.”
“Dee,” Kyle said, holding his arms out helplessly. “Can
we talk without your guard dog present?”
Wrong thing to say. “Only if we can talk without your
babysitter present.”
Erina’s gaze snapped to me, daggers shooting from her
eyes. I never really understood that metaphor until now. I
liked it.
“Kyle, I’m busy. What the hell are you doing here? You
already have everything.”
Erina rolled her eyes. “It was all in my name. It’s not like
we stole it from you.”
“Wow,” I said, sitting at last. I took the opposite end of
the sofa. The farthest spot I could manage. “You almost
sound like you believe that. You’re a much better actress
than I’ve given you credit for.”
“Dee, we didn’t come here to fight.”
“Why did you come here, Kay?”
He pressed his mouth together at my use of his most
hated nickname. “We came to make a deal.”
My suspicion skyrocketed. “What else could you possibly
want from me?”
“This house.”
They weren’t kidding. “You’re not kidding.” I was so
stunned, the edges of my vision blurred.
“Not at all,” Erina said.
 Annette snorted. By far her best sound e ect. “And what
makes you think you have a snowball’s chance of taking it
from her?”
“You misunderstand” Kyle’s voice was soft. Appeasing.
I’d learned to distrust this side of him months ago. “We
want to make a trade.”
This was getting good. “What kind of trade?”
“The restaurant for the house.”
Surprise shot through me. Why would they trade my
restaurant for this house? Unless . . . “You’re running my
restaurant into the ground already?”
“Dee, calm down. We’re doing no such thing. We just
want to make a move and this is the perfect place to do it.”
My mind raced trying to figure out why they would want
this house. True, it was probably worth more than my
restaurant, but I felt like there was more to it than that.
“What do you know that I don’t?”
“What? Nothing. You’ve always been so suspicious.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Annette said.
“Tell her, Kyle,” Erina snapped. “Or I will.”
“Mother.” He drew in a deep breath, and sickening sense
of dread crept up my spine. “Make the trade, Dee, and we
won’t take you back to court.”
I had to admit. I wasn’t expecting that. “On what
grounds?”
“On withholding the value of your assets. You didn’t
declare this property.”
“I just signed the papers on it three days ago!” I jumped
to my feet. “I didn’t even know about it. I didn’t even know I
had a grandmother.”
He stood as well. “And you can have your lawyer tell that
to the judge.”
They knew I couldn’t a ord a lawyer. They were counting
on it. But my mind was stuck in a groove, replaying the same
question over and over. Why would they want this house?
Why would they come all the way from Arizona to try to get
it? And how had they even found out about it?
I had to admit, getting my restaurant back would be a
dream come true. It wasn’t like I could a ord Percy anyway.
“Look,” he said, the snake scales he’d inherited from his
mother glistening in the morning sun as he leaned closer,
“we don’t have to do this. We can make a trade. Even swap.
Right here and now.”
A male voice interrupted my thought process, which was
already a bit frazzled. “There you are,” Roane said, walking
into the room.
We turned and watched him walk in. He was breathtaking.
His hair mussed like he’d just woken up. His lashes dark with
sleep.
Annette’s sharp intake of breath told me that she noticed,
too.
But he didn’t stop. He kept walking, like a predator
stalking his prey, until we stood toe-to-toe. Then, without
hesitation, he wrapped a hand around the back of my head,
bent and planted his mouth on mine.
The kiss started out slow. What I thought was going to be
a simple peck morphed into an all-out mack session when he
tilted his head and pushed his tongue past my lips.
I grabbed hold of his T-shirt for balance and his other
hand slid to the small of my back, his fingers splayed. Within
seconds, he deepened the kiss. A surge of pleasure laced up
my skin and dipped low in my abdomen. His mouth was hot
and wet and pliant. All the things I was.
Then, as quickly as it began, it ended. He broke it o and
smiled down at me. “I thought we could do lunch at Finz
when you’re hungry.”
I barely managed a nod.
 His olive eyes were full of amusement when he wrapped a
possessive arm around me and faced our company. “Who are
your friends?”
“They—” I stopped and cleared my throat. “They were
just leaving.”
“Good.”
Kyle’s face had turned a rather hilarious shade of
magenta, as did Erina’s. Before he could say anything else,
the front door opened.
Chief Metcalf walked in, shook out his jacket—apparently
it was raining—and waved a big hello.
“Oh, hey, Roane,” he said, a bright smile on his face.
“Hey, da odil.”
“Chief.”
He gave Erina and Kyle a once-over then said to me, “I
guess you forgot to mention the restraining order to these
fine folks.”
I blinked in confusion. “Restraining order?”
“You’re going to get these two arrested if you aren’t
careful. To be honest, I don’t want either one of them
sullying up my jail.”
“Arrested?” Erina asked, her bright complexion picking
up the lovely pinks in her flu y coat like she’d matched
them on purpose.
“I have a court order.” He slid a folded paper out of his
inside pocket. When he showed it to them, his demeanor
changed. He grew serious, his large frame even more
intimidating than it had been five seconds earlier. “If either
of you set foot in this town again, I’ll arrest you so fast your
lawyer’s head will spin.”
“That’s not possible,” Kyle said. “You can order us from
an entire town.”
“It is, actually. Judge Brigalow? Big fan of our girl here.”
He nodded toward me. “So, you can take it up with her, but
I’d hurry. You have fifteen minutes to get out before I send
for a patrol car.”
“This isn’t over,” Erina said, gathering her bag and
storming toward the door.
“That’s exactly what it is,” the chief said, an edge to his
voice so sharp it could’ve sliced through cold metal.
I fell a little in love, truth be known.
He stepped closer, towering over the woman to punctuate
his next point. “If you even think about dragging Ms. Dayne
into court again for any reason whatsoever, you will live to
regret it.”
“And just how would you manage that from
Massachusetts?”
“Did I mention I’m very good friends with both the police
commissioner in Phoenix and the health inspector? Speaking
of which,” he glanced at his watch, “your restaurant is
getting a surprise visit in about thirty minutes.”
Kyle gaped at me, clearly taken o guard.
“That was beautiful,” Annette said, but she had yet to
take her eyes o Roane.
Without another word, they left. Erina was appalled. Kyle,
on the other hand, had turned an interesting shade of green.
Not his best color. I didn’t think he had enough brains to
know when to back down. I was glad to see I was wrong.
Then again, he glanced over his shoulder at me and the
look in his eyes, the dangerous glint . . . I’d never seen that in
him before.
“Thank you,” I said to the chief when they left. “I didn’t
know cops could lie like that.”
“Firstly, we can. Secondly, I wasn’t lying.” He o ered me
the paper. “This is a real court order.”
I tore it out of his hands and began reading. He wasn’t
kidding. “How?”
 “Thank your grandmother. Oh, and the judge of course.
She really is a big fan.”
“She doesn’t even know me.”
Roane spoke up then. “When are you going to learn,
beautiful, everyone knows you here. You’re practically a
celebrity.”
No pressure then. “Why?”
“You’ll figure it out,” he said, a mischievous twinkle in
his eye.
“I’m o to do cop stu ,” the chief said. “Tell your
grandmother hi for me.”
“Will do. Thank you so much, Chief.”
He waved as he walked out. I waved back then turned to
Roane. “I owe you again.”
He dropped his arm and put some distance between us.
“You owe me nothing.”
I stepped back, too, not wanting to crowd him. “Also, you
live in the basement.”
“She told you?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know. When I moved in, it wasn’t my finest hour.
I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of your
grandmother.”
“From what little I know about my grandmother, she was
the one doing the taking. My point was, you live in the
basement. The one with Percy’s bones buried in it.”
A deep laugh escaped him, like cool water on a hot day.
“It’s not like I keep them on an altar.”
I tried to suppress a frown. In true Defiance fashion, I
failed. God forbid I break the failing streak I was on. “It
doesn’t bother you?”
“Living in a basement? Not really.”
That time I laughed. “Living with Percy’s bones.”
 He ducked his head, and said softly, “I’ve lived with far
worse.”
At that exact moment, as though we were in perfect sync,
as if our hearts beat as one, as if the stars had aligned just
for us, we remembered we had company. We turned our
heads to the curly-headed imp standing close beside us. Like
really close. Lids round. Jaw slack.
“Annette,” I said in acknowledgment.
“I’ve never seen anyone with such exquisite coloring.”
Roane gave me a quick once over. “Neither have I.”
“I’m pretty sure she was referring to you.”
She reached up and fondled a strand of his golden-
streaked red hair. “Is this your real color? Please tell me it’s
your real color.”
“She really does have manners,” I said to him.
She recovered, dropped his hair, and gave the poor guy
some space. “Sorry. I don’t normally assault people when I
first encounter them. At the very least, I usually wait until
our third.” She started backing away. “I’m just going to, you
know, go die.” Then, with shoulders hunched, she hurried
away.
“Sorry about that.” I pointed in her general direction.
“She’s a hoot. For real, though, is that your natural color?”
“Depends.” He grew serious, his eyes glistening as he
took me in, his gaze a powerful mix of curiosity and, dare I
hope, desire.
My heartbeats faltered, stumbling into one another as I
struggled for air.
“Do you like it?”
I confirmed with a slow nod. “I like it.”
“Then yes.”
A soft bubble of laughter fought its way to the surface.
“That cleared up nothing, just so you know.”
He lifted a shoulder, completely unapologetic.
 “And if I didn’t like it?”
“It would still be my natural color.”
“Good to know.”
He inched closer, his alluring scent tempting me to do the
same. He was going to kiss me again. I could feel it. I wanted
it more than anything else on earth at that moment in time,
if not for the brash voice of Annette yelling at me from the
top of her lungs.
“Deph! Your grandmother says to stop dillydallying and
get your ass back to work! Also, I’m paraphrasing.”
He lowered his head. “I better get back to work, too.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.”
He walked away. I watched him walk away. I may have
drooled. I finally knew what the saying sex on a stick meant.
All in all, this whole adventure had proven very educational
on several levels.
About thirty seconds after he disappeared, Ink barreled
toward me like his tail had caught fire. He stopped to rub my
ankles suggestively and didn’t get too upset when I picked
him up and took him to the kitchen with me.
After plopping down in my regular chair, I buried my face
in his fur and said to Ruthie, “I don’t know where you found
that man, but we need to invest in stock. They make good
stu .”
“I concur,” Annette said. “Really, really good stu .
Excellent quality.”
“Yes, they do. Now—”
“Are there such things as shapeshifters?”
“You’re stalling again.”
“No, I’m not. It’s just, you said Roane lives in the
basement. Ink lives in the basement. I’ve never seen them at
the same time. I just thought, you know, shapeshifter.”
“How cool would that be?” Annette asked from behind
her book.
 “Well, I can tell you that Ink and Roane are not the same
being. Now concentrate.”
“Gigi, I have been concentrating. Maybe we need to try a
di erent tact.”
“I thought it was tack,” Annette said.
“How about we try this?”
“Or is it change tack?”
“Think about all the ways you’re going to lose this house
to those vultures if they decide to take you to court,” Ruthie
said. “That should get you angry. You know, light a fire
under your settee, as it were.”
I rubbed Ink’s nose. He did not appreciate it. “You heard
that?”
Her expression hardened. “Honestly, what were your
fathers thinking?”
“They had nothing to do with it, Gigi. I’m a big girl. I
made my bed. I’ll probably lose Percy anyway, so it really
doesn’t matter.”
He delicate brows slid together. “What do you mean?”
“Gigi,” I said, setting Ink free. He scampered o to do cat
stu . “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I don’t think I
can keep him.”
“Ink?”
“Percy.”
“What?” she asked, stunned.
“I can’t a ord him.”
“What’s there to a ord, sweetheart?”
“Well, for starters, insurance? Taxes? Utilities? General
upkeep? The neighbors are already threatening to tear him
down.”
She crossed her arms. “They couldn’t do that even if they
wanted to. How about we cross that bridge when we come to
it. You may not believe me right now, but how you are going
to keep Percival is the least of your worries.”
 “Right. Evil witches en route.”
“Exactly.”
“Dark sorcerers incoming.”
“Yes.”
“Black mages approach.”
“Defiance.”
“Okay.” I slumped in the chair.
“Up,” she ordered. Sassy thing.
After rolling onto my feet with a few groans thrown in for
good measure, I turned the laptop to face the kitchen. I was
beginning to wonder how a kitchen became our secret lair
when I remembered where the co ee pot lived.
“I’m not going to coach you this time. You can do it. You
have it in you.”
“I can do it. Right.” But how? That was still the question.
“I want you to know,” she added, “if they do come, if a
witch powerful enough to steal your life energy makes it past
the front door, you will not be the only casualty.”
I whirled around to her. “What do you mean?”
Annette lowered the book and listened in as well.
“I mean, who do you think will try to protect you?”
My thoughts stalled.
“Who do you think will die trying to protect you?”
I looked at Annette, whose expression resembled mine.
Wary and ready to rabbit.
“Yes,” Ruthie said, her a rmation turning my stomach.
“And who else?”
No. “Roane?”
“Of course.”
“No. He just . . . we just met. Why would he—"
“And who else?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Percival may have lost himself in dark magics, but he
still loves you, Defiance. You’re still his granddaughter.”
 “No. He can’t be killed.”
“He can be . . . disassociated.”
“What does that mean?”
“He can be uncoupled from this realm. He can cease to
exist on this plane. They can, essentially, send him to the
underworld.”
The walls hummed with a soft vibration, much like Ink’s
purr, fascinating and oddly comforting.
Annette put the book down and walked over to me. “We
can do this, Deph. Concentrate, damn it.”
The thought of losing her. Of losing any of them . . .
“Wait. Gigi, what about you?”
Her face softened and a sad smile thinned her lips. “If
they win, darling girl, they could never let me live, even in
the veil.”
 TEN

People who tolerate me on a daily basis . . .

they’re the real heroes.
-Meme

I sank into the chair, trying to absorb what Ruthie had just
told me. Mainly the fact that people could die trying to
protect me. That they could even get to her. “How could they
get to you in the veil?”
“That’s not what matters right now.”
“Gigi, enough. How could they get to you?”
“There are, even in this realm, unsavory elements. I don’t
want you to think about that right now.”
“How can I not?”
She raised her chin. “You’re right. I apologize. I’m not
trying to scare you, sweetheart. I just want you to know all
the angles. All that’s at stake. What could happen if we fail.”
And I’d been joking about my streak.
“If I disappear, you must figure out the spell immediately.
That’s your only hope.”
I leaned forward and touched her face on the screen. “Has
something happened?”
 “Nothing of note. But you must hurry.”
Perhaps it was her expression. Perhaps it was the defiant
tilt of her chin, or the thought of losing the ability—no, the
honor—of seeing it ever again that did it. That final push of
motivation that I’d so desperately needed.
I felt the magics stir within me. I felt them heat until a
spark ignited and a flame took hold. I looked down at my
torso. Splayed my fingers over my chest. Pulled the fire out
until it was in the palm of my hand.
I didn’t think of the word Ruthie had been wanting me to
envision. It wouldn’t have worked. Not for what she wanted.
I needed a spell to di use the essence of my energy so no
one, not even a powerful GPS, could find me.
I raised my hand and drew the symbol for a spell that
basically meant to scatter. To dissipate. To disappear.
Just as before, light bled from the lines I drew, golden and
bright, as though the sun itself were leaking out of them.
Sharp edges. Swirling loops. I drew it again and again as I
turned to complete the circle. To disperse my energy. To
disguise it.
The pain was even less than the second time I’d used the
magics, but something else happened as well. The more I
drew, the more I kept the magics flowing through me, the
more knowledge I acquired. A script came to me. A chant. I
felt the original witches. I felt their fears and frustrations.
Their hopes and deepest dreams.
They wanted their daughters to live unafraid of
persecution, so they created the sources, the charmlings, to
strike a balance in both the magic and the non-magic
worlds.
Back then, they were not called witches or shrews or
crones. This was long before such derogatory terms for the
gifted. It was a time when witches were seen as shamans.
Healers. Alchemists. They were the highest-ranking
priestesses and were called, in rough translation, the
charmed. Yet even then, there were those who would take
advantage. Those who would destroy.
Thus, the original charmed created their queens, the
charmlings. Three beings of great power to maintain balance
and keep their sisters safe.
These charmlings were meant to live apart from both the
mundane and the witch worlds. To separate themselves and
watch from afar. To help when they could. At the same time,
they were meant to live together. To work side-by-side with
their sisters. To pool their magics and govern the world as
one.
Sadly, centuries later, dark forces figured out how to kill
them and commandeer their powers. They sought them out.
Separated them. Murdered them one by one and stole their
energy. As strong as the charmlings were, they trusted too
much. They were unworldly and didn’t know the true
meaning of evil.
When a charmling was killed and a witch tried to steal her
powers, if a child was born anywhere on earth with the blood
of the original charmed, that child would inherit the power.
She would steal it away from the witch trying to take it.
But those who were born a charmling, unless they were
born to a very knowledgeable family who could cast the
spells to protect them immediately, were quickly snatched
up by dark mages, killed and their powers siphoned away.
Still, a witch who killed and took a charmling’s power
risked almost certain death. Because others would come.
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually
another witch would try to take what was never rightfully
hers in the first place.
Those who did manage to hold onto the power were
usually protected by a dark coven who used the magics for
their own gain. They were essentially chattel. Very well-
guarded and treated like royalty, but they had a startling lack
of free will. Thus, either road led to tragedy.
I saw a face in the mists of time. Just for a second before it
disappeared. Large dark eyes. Ebony skin. Bright paints. I
whirled around, trying to find it again. Trying to find her. I
searched over and over through the light I’d created and the
darkness beyond. The smoke whirled around me. Nothing for
minutes and then another face. And another.
Each face, stunning in the swirling vapors, painted with
bright golds and reds and blues. Their inklike hair braided
with shimmering golden threads.
The beauty in the middle raised her hand and drew a
symbol. I knew it instantly: Of royal blood.
“Defiance?”
I heard Ruthie’s voice but couldn’t quite figure out which
direction it was coming from.
I turned back to the charmed, lifted my hand and drew
the symbol. They bowed their heads and then dissipated into
the mist. The same mist that vanished seconds later when I
found myself staring at the ceiling.
Annette stood over me, a cold washcloth in hand.
“Oh, good. I was about to slap you,” she said.
I grabbed the cloth and sat up, trying to steady myself
through a dizzying wave. “What the hell?”
“You face planted,” Annette said.
I climbed onto a chair like I’d had twelve margaritas too
many—because that happened once—and looked at my
grandmother.
“You did it,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her.
“You cast the spell. You’re safe. For now.”
“Am I going to pass out every time I do a spell?”
“I don’t think so. I think this is just your body adjusting.”
Annette agreed with a nod, already an expert.
“How long was I out?”
 “Only a few minutes,” Annette said. She was the worst
liar ever.
I looked at the clock on my laptop. “I’ve been out for two
hours?” I screeched. Then I felt a warmth on my cheek.
“Annette, did you slap me?”
Guilt consumed her. She looked away, and said, “Only
once.”
“You just lied again!”
“Okay, twice. I panicked. You were out cold. I was about
five seconds away from calling an ambulance when you woke
up.”
Then I remembered what happened. I stared at Ruthie,
my mind o cially blown. “The original witches, the
charmed, they were from Mesopotamia.”
“Well, yes, but . . . wait.” She stepped closer. “Did you see
them?”
“I did.” I sat in front of her, blood rushing in my ears.
“They were stunning. Powerful. Majestic.”
She pressed her hands to her heart. “Good heavens. I’ve
always dreamed of meeting them in the veil. Did they speak
to you?”
“They wrote in the air.”
Annette, impatient as ever, blurted out, “What did they
say?”
I shrugged. “Simply, ‘Of royal blood.’”
Ruthie’s hands covered her mouth and she closed her
eyes as though basking in the moment.
“Gigi, that was amazing and all, but it was just a
hallucination, right? From the spell?” I knew the answer
before she spoke. It just boggled my mind so much.
“No, darling girl. It was not a hallucination.”
“What did you do?” Annette asked, her voice full of awe.
“When they drew the symbol, what happened next?”
 “I drew it back. It was almost like a greeting or a secret
handshake. And they told me everything.”
“The true history?” Ruthie said.
“Yes. You pretty much nailed it.” I chewed on my bottom
lip a few minutes, then said, “Ruthie, I don’t know what you
did, but you saved my life. I would never have lived to see my
first birthday if not for you.”
Her face softened and tears pooled between her lids. “I’m
so honored, Defiance.”
“I am, too,” Annette said.
I stood and walked over to her. She made a cross with her
index fingers and raised it to ward me o . Thankfully, that
only worked on vampires. She tried to back away. I threw my
arms around her anyway and pulled her into a hug.
“Still not a hugger,” she said into my sweater. After a
minute, she said in a high-pitched voice, “It burns.”
I hugged her harder before a thought occurred to me.
“Oh, my God. We have to find Mrs. Touma. The woman with
Alzheimer’s. Maybe I can do it, now.”
“Of course you can, dear. I would like to suggest,
however, that we start with something that has a little less
potential for human casualty.”
“You’re right. The wedding ring?”
A pleased smile spread across her face. “The wedding
ring.”
I looked over at Annette. “You ready?”
“Let’s do this.”
We grabbed our coats and headed for the back door.
Apparently, Dana Hart lived behind Percy, her house one
street over on Warren.
“Wait. I stopped and turned back to Ruthie. How do I find
things? Like, where do I make the symbol? What symbol do I
make?”
 “Well, I could tell you how I used to find lost items for
people, but that would be like teaching an Olympic sprinter
how to walk.”
Honestly, the woman could be so cryptic. “Meaning?”
“You don’t need to learn to walk when you can sprint at
the speed of light. It will come to you. Just focus on what you
want to accomplish.”
Annette cocked her head to one side in thought. Never a
good thing. “What about things she wants other people to
accomplish? Like, say, she wants her bestie to accomplish a
dozen donuts a day without weight gain. Is that doable?”
Ruthie o ered her a patient grin.
“Okay, well, think about it and get back to me.”
“Besides, you’ve done it before,” Ruthie said.
We’d been heading out the door when she spoke. We
turned back, and I o ered her a dubious scowl. “Not without
gaining weight. That’s a lot of carbs, Gigi.”
Another one of those patient grins.
“Okay, I’ll bite. I’ve done what before? Found things?”
“Oh, honey, you’ve performed miracles.”
I walked back to her. Or, well, to my laptop. “What kinds
of miracles?”
“The miraculous kind.”
I sat at the table again while Annette struggled with the
zipper of her winter coat. We didn’t wear them often in
Phoenix. “That doesn’t help.”
“Remember the other files in this folder?”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about those.”
“Open the one titled Missing Child.”
I stilled and sat there for a long moment, before asking,
“I found a missing child?”
A knowing grin spread across her lovely face. “Open the
file.”
 I went back to the folder. There were three files in it
besides the one where Ruthie lived. Which was so weird. Sure
enough, one was titled Missing child.
After a quick glance at Annette, who was standing behind
me, I clicked on the mp4 file. A square screen popped up of a
dimly lit room. It only took a second to realize it was
Ruthie’s living room. I could hear soft chanting and a woman
crying in the background.
“Ruthie, what is this?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t say anything.
The camera bounced in and out of focus. It panned out to
show a circle of women holding hands around a map. They
sat on the floor with candles flickering in front of them.
Then one woman leveled her hand over the map, fingers
splayed, palm down as she circled her hand over it. The
chanting grew louder and the woman’s hand shook, and
when the camera swung around, a younger version of Ruthie
came into frame.
After a moment, she closed her hand into a fist and
doubled over.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice weak.
The crying grew louder. “Please,” a woman said. She was
not in the frame, so I couldn’t see who it was. It didn’t
matter. I could tell she was desperate. In pain. Her voice
divulging the agony she felt. “Please try again.”
Then, as though there was nothing unusual about the
situation whatsoever, a woman holding a sleeping child, no
older than three, walked into the room. She could barely be
seen in the top corner of the frame as she carried the girl
toward the circle.
The woman had thick, dark hair, much like tangled mop
atop the girl who wore pink pajamas, and carried a stu ed
cat. A stu ed cat I still had in my chest at home.
My pulse quickened.
 The woman knelt down, her face dire, and gently woke
the little girl.
“Defiance,” she said softly. “Deph, honey, wake up.” Was
that my mother? I’d been here over two days and had yet to
see a picture of her. I hadn’t even asked to see one, and I
wondered why.
“I don’t think we should do this,” Ruthie said.
“Please, Ruthie,” the woman crying o -camera said. “I’ll
do anything.” She broke down, her wailing heartbreaking.
I finally roused and immediately climbed into Ruthie’s lap
only to fall back asleep again almost instantly.
With a resigned sigh, Ruthie stroked my back. “Defiance,
honey, can you wake up?”
After a moment of cajoling, I squirmed then lifted my lids
and looked around as though realizing for the first time
something was not right.
I rubbed my eyes and glanced up at Ruthie.
“Sweetheart, Mrs. Huber’s son is missing. Can you find
him?”
My head tilted to look past Ruthie and, I assumed, find
Mrs. Huber. Then I nodded. I climbed out of Ruthie’s lap and
walked toward Mrs. Huber. A bundle of nerves, she appeared
in the frame at last.
When I got to her, I took her hand, but just for a moment,
then I turned to the map and, as though I did that sort of
thing every day, I stood over the map and drew a symbol in
the air, the spell for reveal.
The symbol glowed, and I did something I didn’t know to
do, yet. I physically pushed the spell onto the map. I opened
my palm and forced the spell onto the parchment.
The second it touched the paper it began to disperse.
Molecule by molecule it covered the map like a thick,
searching fog, then slowly vaporized and disappeared.
 “There,” I said, pointing to a spot on the map, before
climbing back onto Ruthies lap.
Two men shot forward to see where I’d pointed, as did
Mrs. Huber, her actions frantic as she studied it. The men
talked quietly. One was a younger version of Chief Metcalf.
He glanced at Ruthie, graced Mrs. Huber with a reassuring
nod, then took o with his partner.
“Is that it?” Mrs. Huber asked, shaking visibly. “Is she
sure?”
“She’s sure,” Ruthie said, her tone understanding and
firm at once. She stood with me in her arms and took me out
of the room.
“You found him,” Ruthie said when the video ended.
“Houston got there and found him. They took down the
boy’s father who, if the shovel was any indication, was going
to bury him that night.”
“Why?” I asked, appalled.
“Custody battle gone awry.”
Sometimes I thought I would never understand the
human psyche. “He was okay? The boy?”
She nodded. “Thanks to you.”
I sat astonished. “And I just knew?” I asked her. “I just
knew how to do it?”
“Yes, dear. Like I said, you were born knowing the
language. It was as natural to you as breathing is to us. And
let me assure you, your gifts kept you in plenty of hot
water.”
“That was my mother?”
Her mouth thinned. “Yes.”
I nodded. “She was so pretty. Like you.”
“Thank you. She was.” She played with a necklace at her
throat. “She was beautiful.”
“Wait,” Annette said, her brows sliding together. She
looked me up and down. “That was you in the video?”
 “She’s quick,” Ruthie said.
“Like a fox.” I filled my lungs and glanced at Annette.
“Are you still up for this?”
“Dude, I was born up for this. Wouldn’t miss it for the
world.”
I picked up my phone then had a thought. “Gigi, can I
download your file-slash-app onto my phone and, you
know, bring you along?”
A look of surprise adorned her lovely face. “I don’t see
why not. I mean, if I’m available, sure.”
My expression flatlined. “Why wouldn’t you be available?
“I do have other acquaintances, Defiance.”
“Acquaintances?”
She cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I have a
friend.”
It was my turn to be surprised. “Really? You’re talking to
someone else?”
Annette’s synapses chose that moment to fire faster than
mine. “Does that friend happen to be a tall, ruggedly
handsome police chief?”
Ruthie blushed. The woman actually blushed. Without a
drop of blood in her body, she blushed. Online dating in the
afterlife just seemed wrong somehow.
“Grandma!”
 ELEVEN

I’m not sure if I attract crazy,

or if I make them that way.
-T-shirt

Since Dana Hart, the missing wedding ring girl, had used our
backdoor, we decided to use hers. It was easier than walking
all the way around the block. The crisp air smelled like the
ocean today, rich and briny. It made me want to hunt down a
beach and build a campfire.
We entered through Dana’s back gate.
“You still with me?” I asked Ruthie.
“I am, but you may not want to let Dana see me like this.
Not just yet. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Amen to that.” I locked my phone as Annette knocked on
the door.
Dana opened it, her brows drawn in confusion.
Then I realized her husband could’ve come home early
and tried to cover. “Hi, Dana. Have you heard about our lord
and savior—?”
“Come in!” She practically dragged us inside. “Did you
find it?”
 Poor thing was in a state of panic. Her messy bun was
messier than most. She wore the same clothes she’d had on
the day before. And her house had been torn apart. I could
practically feel the stress seeping out of her, and it worried
me.
Annette picked her way through the carnage to get at a
pair of wiener dogs who’d clearly been traumatized by their
mother’s behavior.
I put a hand on her arm to get her attention. “Dana, are
you in danger?”
“What?”
“If your husband comes home and you don’t have the
ring, will he harm you in any way?”
Her expression told me I’d caught her o guard. She
quickly put me at ease, though. “What? No. No, that’s not
the problem.” She dragged me into the living room. I tried to
pet the dogs. Apparently, there was no time for that. My bad.
“It’s his mother. She’ll never forgive me if I lose the family
heirloom. Trust me when I say that woman can hold a
grudge until the stars burn out.”
“You know my mother-in-law?” I asked, feigning
surprise.
She laughed. “Yours, too?”
“Don’t get me started. Mine is actually an ex-mother-in-
law, so I’m slowly regaining my will to live.”
“The road to recovery can be a long one.”
“Word.”
We sat on a beige sofa in a room that was slightly less
post-apocalyptic than what we’d seen so far and slightly
more disaster movie of the week. So, not hit quite as hard by
Hurricane Dana.
Annette was on the ground, playing with Dana’s wieners.
I wanted to play with her wieners. Instead, I put on my big-
girl panties and behaved professionally. I had to do Ruthie
proud.
“So, you figured it out?” Dana asked. “You know now?”
I chewed on my lower lip for a moment, then said, “I’m
still in the process of figuring it out. I don’t know if I can
help you, Dana.”
She balled her hands into fists in excitement, hope
bursting out of her. “It’s okay. I’m begging you to just try.”
“I have to admit, I’m not sure what to do. What did my
grandmother do when she helped you find something?”
“She did a spell. Very witchy with herbs and, I don’t
know, something that looked like dandelions pappus. You
know, the fuzzy white things?”
“Right. Well, I don’t know how to work with herbs yet.”
“No, I know,” she said, growing excited. “She said you
wouldn’t have to use herbs. She said you were di erent.”
I loved that she told so many people. They seemed to
know more about me than I did.
Annette came to sit with us. She took a chair catty-corner
to me and I finally got to say hello to the dogs. They seemed
as excited about that fact as I was. Then I took my cues from
the video Ruthie showed me. I took Dana’s hand into mine.
She tried to rein in her elation by taking deep breaths and
letting me work.
I noticed from my periphery Annette scooted to the edge
of her seat in anticipation. Great. I’d let them both down if I
couldn’t pull this o .
“You should breathe,” Annette said.
“I am breathing.”
“No, like deep, soothing breaths. Let the energy flow
through you.” She wiggled her fingers over her body to
demonstrate.
After tossing her a quick glare, I tried to focus.
 “Sorry,” she whispered. Like a whisper wouldn’t be just
as much of a distraction.
Having no idea what I was supposed to be focusing on, I
decided to begin by just trying to calm down. To let my
energy flatline before asking anything of it. My lids drifted
shut and I focused on Dana’s hand in mine. On her essence. I
let our energies weave together and merge until I saw the
thing in her mind that weighed the most. The ring.
It was a silver oval with a sprinkling of tiny diamonds.
Strong, like the women who wore it, it only looked delicate.
Also like the women who wore it.
Dana’s sense of urgency flowed into me and spurred me
into action. I stood, walked to the center of the room, and
drew the spell in the air. The light bleeding from the lines
cast a soft glow, like candlelight, on the objects around me.
The dogs barked, but I was lost. Nothing could break my
concentration now. It was like the ring beckoned. Called out
to me. Like it wanted to be found.
I opened my palm and pushed the spell to the floor.
Forced it into a mist. Ordered it to reveal the ring’s location.
I must’ve sucked at giving orders, however, because it didn’t
reveal a single location. It revealed three.
I could see them in my mind’s eye, like I was standing in
front of each of them. One in the backyard. One in a
bathroom. One a safety deposit box.
Confusion snapped me out of the spell. I turned to Dana,
her expression so hopeful, it broke my heart.
Instead of trying to explain, I went in search of the
bathroom. Annette and Dana bolted out of their chairs and
followed. I unscrewed the stopper to the sink.
“I’ve already looked there,” Dana said. “I even removed
the trap, and took apart—”
She stopped when she watched me turn the stopper over.
It was the kind that one only had to push down to close the
drain. The ring had wedged itself inside the inner workings
of the stopper. She probably would’ve figured it out if she’d
tried to close the drain. The ring wouldn’t have allowed it.
I pried the ring out and handed it to a woman who defined
joy and gratitude and relief. Mostly relief.
She teared up and threw her arms around me. I hugged
her back, then Annette decided to get in on the action and
hugged us, too.
“Dana,” I said, hating to be a buzzkill. “I’m not finished.
There’s more.”
She wrenched back. “There’s more?”
I nodded and hurried past them to get to the backyard.
The dogs followed, nipping at my heels in excitement. Now
that I knew they were here, I’d definitely have to come for a
visit.
Exiting out the back door disoriented me. The vision from
the spell looked di erent, but I quickly got my bearings and
marched to a spot not far from the wrap-around porch. I
knelt down and began to dig into the ice-cold ground. Dirt
caked under my nails. It didn’t matter. I had to get to it.
“Um, Defiance?” Dana asked, her voice hesitant.
“Just a sec.”
Annette decided to give it a go. “So, D-bomb.” She
squatted down next to me, and asked in a sing-song voice,
“Whatcha doin?”
“Finding the ring.”
“But you already found the ring,” Dana said, confused.
I continued to dig. Thankfully the ground was wet, but
that fact also made it colder. My sleeves, now damp around
the wrists, were beginning to sti en with the cold. My
fingers cramped. Though my nails would never be the same,
I continued to dig.
After a moment, Annette dropped to her knees to help. We
dug for several minutes until she stopped and looked up at
me, her mouth forming a pretty O.
She lifted her hand out of the hole we’d dug and brought
with it another ring, this one exactly like the first one.
She handed the mud-covered heirloom to Dana, whose
expression turned from wariness to confusion. Then it hit
her. She looked at the ring on her finger. “You mean, this
isn’t the original ring?” Her gaze slid to mine. “This isn’t
the heirloom?”
“Oh, but wait,” I said, sounding like a TV spokesperson.
“There’s more. There’s a third ring. It’s at Eastern Bank in
Boston. Safety deposit box number two-seven-two.”
“The Eastern Bank in Boston?” she asked, stunned.
“That’s where my mother-in-law banks. That’s her safety
deposit box. There’s another ring there?”
I nodded.
Dana stared at the ring on her finger, the truth sinking
deeper. “This isn’t the original. These are both copies.”
Annette got to her feet and helped me to mine before
swiping at her wet knees, trying to remove as much mud as
possible. “I’m sorry,” she said to Dana.
“That woman made me believe if I lost this ring, I’d be
shunned from the family for all eternity. I’d be cast out
because a piece of jewelry was more valuable to her than I
was.”
Annette, ever the diplomat, asked brazenly, “Do you think
your husband knows it’s not the original?”
Her mind hadn’t worked that far into the scenario, yet.
The question surprised her. The implications therein. For
one thing, if he had known and allowed his mother to put
that kind of pressure on his wife, he was an ass. For another,
whether he knew or not, he allowed his mother to put that
kind of pressure on his wife, making her membership in the
family contingent upon the care and feeding of a hunk of
metal, which also made him an ass. Also, his name was
Whittington. His first name. So, ass.
A beautiful fury erupted out of Dana. She took her phone
and started punching the screen. “Let’s find out.”
We went back inside and Dana stepped away to speak to
her husband, who was apparently boarding a flight, while
Annette and I played with her wieners. It only made me want
a wiener of my very own.
Dana came back a few minutes later, her fury burning just
as bright. “He swears he didn’t know. It doesn’t matter. We
are going to have a long talk when he gets home.”
“Good for you,” Annette said to her. “Don’t take his
shit.”
She laughed. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Cash is always good.”
“Annette!” Now it was my turn to embrace the pink glow
of humiliation.
“What? You said you wanted another sandwich.”
“Of course,” Dana said. She started for her purse.
I stopped her. I felt wrong, suddenly, for an entirely
di erent reason. The world tilted beneath my feet. “We’ll get
back to you, Dana. We need to go.” I cast a desperate glare to
Annette, imploring her to hurry.
She nodded, took my arm, and we headed out the back
door.
“Thank you, again,” Dana said as we left.
I waved and hurried for the gate. Unfortunately, we only
made it halfway before my feet quit working. I fell to my
knees. Annette followed.
She pushed my hair back. “Oh, no. Not again. Breathe.
Breathe.” Then she demonstrated, performing breathing
techniques I was fairly certain were earmarked for women in
labor.
 And yet, they worked. Short, short, long. Short short,
long. The world slowly came back into focus. The darkened
edges of my vision dissipated. And elation lifted me back
onto my feet. Well, Annette lifted me back onto my feet, but
elation helped.
“We did it!” I shouted to Ruthie when we got back to the
house. The world spun again, just for a sec. “And,” I said,
tearing o my jacket in the kitchen while Annette made the
brown elixir of life, “it wasn’t even the original ring. I know
right? Her mother-in-law has that—” I looked at my laptop
screen. The video frame was there, but Ruthie wasn’t.
“Gigi?”
I leaned into the screen. Picked up my laptop. Shook it.
“Gigi, where are you?”
Just when I was seconds away from sending for the Coast
Guard, Ruthie stumbled onto the screen, her hair mussed,
her clothes in disarray. “I’m here,” she said, straightening
her blouse. “I’m back.”
Suspicion furrowed my brows. “Where were you?”
“I had to visit the little girl’s room.”
Annette looked perplexed. “Why would they have a little
girl’s room in the afterlife?”
Ruthie lifted her hair o the back of her neck with one
hand and fanned her face with the other. “There aren’t
actual stalls.”
The slight blush to her cheeks, the soft glow of her skin. It
all reminded me of— “Oh, my God,” I said, appalled. “Were
you and Chief Metcalf just—”
“What?” she asked.
“Were you—” I could barely say the words “—did you
just have cybersex with the chief?”
She dropped her hair and brushed lint o her shoulder.
“I’m certain I don’t know what that means.”
“Online sex.”
 “Oh. Then, yes.”
I gasped.
Annette gasped, too, but for an entirely di erent reason.
The look of delight on her face was disturbing. “Way to go,
Mrs. G!”
“I can’t believe there’s a word for that.”
“Grandma, how is that even possible.”
She fanned her face again. “That man was born with a
gift, Defiance. A calling, if you will. He’s carried the burden
well.”
I gaped a solid minute while Annette laughed beside me.
“I can’t hear this.”
She stopped to look at me, her face bathed in soft hues.
“I’m old, Defiance. I’m not dead.”
“You are dead, actually. You are the definition of dead.”
Annette backhanded my arm. “Hey, at least somebody’s
getting some. Speaking of which, you’re glowing.”
I pursed my lips. “I know she’s glowing. That’s how I
knew.”
“No,” she said, leaning in to study me closer. “You are.
What’s up with that?”
I pushed away and walked to the co ee pot. “I forgot my
shine-control powder, okay?”
“It’s not shine. I mean, you’re glowing.” She followed me
to the pot and leaned in again, apparently to count my pores.
“It’s so soft it’s hardly noticeable and yet it’s there.” She
grabbed my chin and turned my face this way and that.
“Please stop.”
“She’s right,” Ruthie said. “I remember that from when
you were a child. After a spell, you would often glow. It was
subtle and radiant and quite beautiful.”
“For real? Oh, well, that’s cool.” I brushed it o as an
everyday occurrence, then added, “I have to pee.” I
abandoned my co ee and hurried toward the stairs.
 “Please,” Annette said, “you’re going to see for yourself.”
“Am not!” I yelled over my shoulder. But seriously, I had
to see this.
I rushed up the stairs, each trip getting a little easier, and
emerged on the landing only a little out of breath. When I
went into the bathroom, however, I found a man under the
sink again. What the hell was up with that sink?
No worries.
“Hey, I’m just going to look in the mirror.”
“Oh, hold on,” Roane said.
Unfortunately, I had already straddled him. “It’s okay. I
just have to see my glow before it disappears.”
He must not have heard me, because he scooted out from
under the sink and raised up just as my foot touched the
ground on the other side of him. What happened next was
hard to put into coherent thought.
Basically, I felt something at my crotch and my knee-jerk
reaction to an intruder trying to invade the promised land
without my permission was to, well, jerk my knee toward the
o ender.
A knee that he caught easily, his large hand wrapping
around my leg and doing some kind of hand-to-hand
combat maneuver. Before I knew what was happening, I’d
been lifted o the ground and flipped over, landing on my
back, stunned and gasping for air out of surprise. Not pain.
Then I realized he was on top of me. He’d pinned my
hands above my head as his arms and legs took the brunt of
his weight.
I took a moment to assess my condition. Nothing hurt,
really, besides my pride.
“That was unexpected,” I said between pants.
“Hmm,” he agreed. His olive eyes traveled over me
slowly. Methodically. The warmth they generated could’ve
heated the Chrysler Building. “Interesting.”
 “What?” I asked, blowing a lock of hair out of my eyes.
“You really are glowing.”
“Really?” I struggled to get out from under him.
He rose onto his booted feet and lifted me o the ground
so easily, I wondered if he didn’t have some kind of ability
himself. Was super strength a thing in the witch world?
Then he steadied me from behind before stepping back as
I leaned into the mirror. “Hmm.”
“See?” He folded his arms over his chest as a lopsided
grin emerged.
“I guess.”
“It’s not what you were expecting?”
“No. I mean, it’s okay. I just thought maybe I would be
bright enough to light up a room. You know, in case the
power goes out.”
He took a long moment to answer, and when he did, he
was studying me in the mirror with great interest, his olive-
green eyes searching. “You don’t need magics to light up a
room, Ms. Dayne.”
My mouth went dry. I licked my lips and his body seemed
to react. He sti ened. Stepped closer. Slid a hand around to
my stomach.
I covered his with my own in a clear invitation to stay
awhile, and he laced our fingers together.
Asking about his tragic past sat on the very tip of my
tongue. About the fact that he didn’t talk until he was seven.
What would cause that? I burned to know more about this
man. I also burned to turn around and plant my mouth on
his. Because that’s what he needed. Me taking advantage of
him. How many others had done the same to him growing
up?
“I found the ring,” I said instead, the inane part of my
brain stepping up to the mic. Then again, he did have the
sexiest jawline I’d ever seen, bewhiskered as it was. It was
hardly my brain’s fault.
“I thought you might.” He was so close now, his warm
breath fanned across my cheek.
“There were three actually,” I said, my voice airy.
“Ah.” He seemed only half interested as he molded the
length of his body to my backside.
I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. Smell the
earthy scent of him. Feel the hardness at the small of my
back that let me know, in no uncertain terms, he was
interested.
“Did you see it?” Annette asked, barging into the
bathroom.
Roane stepped back like he’d been doing something
wrong.
I cleared my throat and turned on the water, hoping I
wasn’t about to flood the whole house. No idea what he’d
been working on down there.
“Oh,” she said, screeching to a halt. “I am so sorry.” She
showed her palms and began to back out of the room, but
Roane had sobered.
“I need to run to the hardware store anyway,” he said.
“I’ll be back in ten.”
He rushed past her.
She slammed her lids shut. “I did not just do that.”
“You did, actually, but it’s okay. I mean, I’m not sure I
should start something I can’t finish.”
“You can’t finish? Why can’t you finish it?”
“I have to decide, Nette. Today. And as much as I want to,
I just can’t keep Percy.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” She lowered the lid to the
toilet and sat down. “What if I sold my car?”
The befuddled look I graced her with spurred her to talk
faster.
 “Just hear me out. My car is paid o , right? We could sell
it just to get us started. It could help us pay the utilities and
taxes and all that other crap, just until we get our business
going.”
I snorted. “Our business? And what business would that
be?”
“You! You’re the business. I’m what is commonly known
as the business manager.” She added air quotes. “Or
administrative assistant. I’m good with either. The icing on
the cake? I have excellent phone etiquette.”
She really didn’t. “I don’t know, Nette. I don’t think I
should accept money for this.”
“You can’t tell me Ruthie didn’t earn money with her gift.
A girl’s gotta make a living, Deph.”
I turned o the water and leaned against the sink. “I’m
just such a hot mess.”
“I’ll see your hot mess and raise you a walking disaster.”
“And Ruthie may have made money with her gift, but she
was far more knowledgeable about these things than I am.
She grew up in this world. I don’t know the first thing about
how to be a witch. About what’s expected of me. What I can
and cannot do.”
“All of that will happen in time. You have the perfect
mentor. She can teach you all the tricks. Also, you’re a chef.”
I lifted a brow, wondering where this was going. “I’m a
restauranteur. Not a chef.”
“Same dif.”
Not even close. “And what does that have to do with our
business?”
She rubbed her hands together a little too
enthusiastically. It reminded me of a handlebarred villain in
a black and white cartoon. “Now, this is just an idea, okay?
One of about one hundred twelve, but I’ve only just started.
What if we pick one day a month, say a Friday night, and
have a dinner and a séance?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You cook and then do your magic. Percy pitches in with
some scary haunted-house crap. Roane serves because his
presence alone will fill the house. And yours truly takes the
money.”
“You take the money?”
“I haven’t worked out all the details, but yes.”
“And I just cook and do my magic?”
“That’s it. Easy as pie. They’ll be lining up.”
“There’s only one thing wrong with your plan.”
She held up an index finger. “I know where you’re going
with this.”
“Do you?”
“My car isn’t worth the cost of a For Sale sign.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s why we need to start charging people now. I’ll get
the bill typed up immediately. How does Dana spell her last
name?”
“Annette,” I said, appalled all over again. I was going to
use up all of my appalls in one day if I wasn’t careful. “We
can’t charge her.”
“Of course we can. We single-handedly may have saved
her marriage, or convinced her to leave her husband, and we
found two extra rings to boot. How can we not charge her?”
A knock on the door saved me from having to explain all
the things wrong with that question.
“What about your job?” I asked before I left.
“Managing Dr. Handsy’s o ce sta ?” Not his real name.
“I think I’ll survive.”
She had a point. I hurried down the stairs and opened the
door to the banker dude. What was his name again?
 “Oh, hi.” I snapped my fingers then pointed at him. “Mr.
Bourne. Right. The bank robbery. I haven’t forgotten you, but
I have two other clients to see to today. How about I drop by
the bank, say, tomorrow morning?”
He held up a finger to stop me when I eased the door
closed.
“I’ll be there. Promise!” I shouted through the door.
I plastered my back against the thick wood and looked
around at the haunting grandeur before me. “I think I love
you, Percy.”
The floor purred. Or Ink did. It was hard to tell since he
was busy twisting his body around my ankles. I’d like to
twist my body around something, too, but I couldn’t do that
to either of us. If I had to leave, which was the most likely
scenario, I didn’t want Roane thinking I was just using him
for a quickie. Though I would make sure there was nothing
quick about our encounter.
If I did leave, though, I’d have to drop by the bank to help
Mr. Bourne before I headed out of town. How hard could it be
to find bank robbers? I could only hope they were the
nonviolent type.
My stomach growled, reminding me of the time. Who
needed a watch when I had old faithful?
 TWELVE

Don’t break anybody’s heart.

They only have one.
Break their bones.
They have, like, 206.
-Advice from Dear Abigail

Annette and I sat with Ruthie in the kitchen and ended up in

a heated debate that wasn’t so much philosophical as it was
conspiratorial. Or, more to the point, how to keep my gift—
her words—a secret.
“I don’t understand. You helped people all the time,” I
said, stu ng my face with a seafood salad. It took my last
dime, so I was seriously hoping to sell another journal soon.
“They saw you do it, right?”
“Yes,” Ruthie said, “but I did it the normal way.”
“I’m not sure there is such a thing,” Annette said to her,
then she focused on me. “What are you doing?”
I checked my Etsy account. No sales so far. I’d have to
ship the three I sold earlier the second I got home. In the
meantime, I was emailing them to let them know I was out
of town and would ship their orders ay-sap.
 “Writing a customer. How do you spell consecrated?”
“C-o-n-s-c-u-h-k-r-a-t-e-d.”
Ruthie’s head was down, busy drawing something again,
when she spoke absently under her breath, “Not even close.”
“That doesn’t look right,” I told her.
She stopped eating to give me her full attention. “Look,
you asked me how I spell it. Not how the dictionary spells it.
Don’t blame me if it doesn’t look right. Why are you talking
to a customer about consecration?”
“Oh, they love that stu . My journals are made from aged
materials. I like to embellish. You know, throw in little
things like, “This journal is special. The leather was dyed
from consecrated dirt thought to come from a vampire’s
co n after a preacher from the 1800s blessed it to keep him
out. But on that night, their tricks did not work. Alistair
Corrigan, a 237-year-old vampire, slipped through their
fingers yet again.”
Annette snorted. “That’s great. If you really have one like
that, I call dibs.”
“No, Annette. I do not have a journal made from leather
dyed with consecrated vampire dirt.”
“Bummer.”
“Girls,” Ruthie said. “Can we get back to the issue?”
“Right. Sorry.” I took another bite. “So, I have to figure
out how to find things without revealing how I did it?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that again?” Annette asked.
“Because, we have to keep the fact that Dephne is a
charmling as secret as possible.”
“You’re the one who told everyone in town about me.
Loose lips, Gigi.”
“I told them you are a powerful witch. Nothing more.”
“Okay. I get part. I don’t get how I’m supposed to do that
when drawing the symbols is like the light show at a Pink
Floyd concert.”
“What are you talking about?” Annette asked.
I questioned her with my face. “The light?”
She questioned me back with her face, and I couldn’t help
but note that her questioning expression was way better
than mine. Way more dubious.
“The light that bleeds through the lines when I draw the
spells? You know, the blinding one?”
She furrowed her brows in thought. “There’s a light?”
I stopped eating to focus on her. “You mean to tell me you
can’t see it?” I looked at Ruthie then back to Annette.
“Apparently not. I had no idea. I thought you were just
waving your hand and, I don’t know, like a voice came into
your head and told you where the rings were.”
“You’ve never seen the light?” I was almost o ended.
“Nope.”
“What about in the video of me as a child? Could you see
the light from the spell?”
“There was no light. I just saw you draw in the air like you
do now.”
“Then why did you go into such a stupor when my powers
sparked to life?”
“Because of everything else.
“Everything else?”
“Yeah. Papers flying. My hair standing straight up as
tough a giant wave of static electricity shot through the
house. The lights flickering. Then you screamed and doubled
over and I thought something had possessed you like in The
Exorcitst.”
“Oh. That makes sense then. But you could see me
glowing.”
“True.” She shifted her mouth to the side. “That is
weird.”
“Can you see the light, Ruthie?”
 She stopped drawing and held up the paper. “What does
this mean?”
After a quick glance, I swallowed my latest mouthful, and
said, “It’s a reveal spell, just a very specific one. It reveals
when a loved one or a friend has betrayed you. I get the
feeling it’s kind of dangerous.”
“Like, dark? Is it dark magic?”
“Maybe. Why? Where did you see it?”
“I saw it in a note many years ago and I’ve always
wondered. It’s not important.”
“Okay, so I have to do all of this in secret, but if no one
can see the light—”
“The mundane can’t.”
“Hey,” Annette said, pretending to be o ended.
“Powerful witches and anyone of royal blood can. I can.
Oh, and of course other charmlings, but the chances of you
running into one of them any time in the near future are,
well, let’s just say you have a better chance of winning the
lottery. Six times. Consecutively.”
“That’s it?”
“Not exactly. There are certain breeds of people who can
see it. They’re also few and far between. Also, if I’m not
mistaken, a segment of the population with certain types
mental illness can see it.”
“Good to know. Wait, did you say breeds?”
“People with . . . unique gifts.”
“Oh.” I took another bite. “Okay then. To sum up, I can do
the magic just not in front of anyone who might be able to
see the light and we have no way of knowing who that might
be.”
“Basically, though that’s not what I’m talking about. If
they can see the light from your spells, they will likely know
what you are anyway. I mean the mundane. If they start
talking, especially with today’s social media platforms, word
could get out.”
I finished my salad and got up to rinse my plate. “What
do you suggest I do then?”
“Chant.”
“Chant?”
“Like I would. Make everyone believe you’re just a regular
witch using traditional spells and drawing your power from
nature.”
“What happens when I draw the spell?”
“Simply do it discreetly. Nannette,” she said, looking at
my BFF mid-bite,
this is where you come in. There are any number of
distractions you could employ to get their attention away
from Defiance long enough for her to draw the spell.”
Annette was still confused. “I can do that. But why could I
see her glow?”
“That, my dear, is a good question.”
A bashful laugh escaped her. She looked up at me. “She
called me my dear.”
I tried calling Mr. Touma again, the one with the missing
wife. “He’s still not answering. Surely they’ve found his wife
by now. I mean, she’s elderly with Alzheimer’s. How hard
could it be?”
“I’ll check in with Houston and find out,” Ruthie said. “In
the meantime, do you want to try to tackle the missing
girlfriend?”
“I could try. I have his address.”
“Okay, you give that a shot, as long as you did your
homework first.”
“Of course,” I said, giving Annette a shrug. No idea what
homework I was supposed to do.
She shrugged back.
 “Let’s take my vintage mint green Volkswagen Beetle to
Wade Scott’s house.”
“Oh, my God. That car is going to accidentally end up in
Collins Cove.”
Hopefully not. It was the only thing I had left after the
divorce. The only thing I’d had before I met Kyle, besides my
savings that went into the restaurant. Another reason it was
so special to me.

WE PULLED up to a gorgeous old building someone had

turned into apartments. I checked the clock on my phone. I
had four hours to decide about Percy. If I could get to Mrs.
Richter’s law o ces before five p.m., I could back out of the
deal using that law I was certain existed.
Just thinking about the decision made my stomach hurt. I
loved him. Percy. And quite possibly Roane, but we were
nowhere near that kind of revelation. I was too old to believe
in insta-love. It wasn’t that. It was him. His openness. His
intensity. The way his arms felt around me. Like they
belonged there. Like they’d been made for me and me alone.
We rang Wade Scott’s buzzer. He unlocked the access
door without identifying us. We took the stairs to the third
floor, so by the time we got up top, we were both panting.
Wade opened the door before we’d recovered, forcing us
to control our breathing so we wouldn’t look so shamefully
out of shape.
“You came,” he said, his expression full of hope.
And I thought Dana had been a mess. He had bed head to
the extreme, but I got the feeling it was simply due to a lack
of showering. His clothes were dirty and draped loosely over
his thin frame.
 “I can try to help, Wade. I just want you to understand, I
can’t make any promises.”
“It’s okay. I understand. Please, excuse the mess.” He
motioned us inside. “I’ve been a wreck.”
We tiptoed around takeout boxes and dirty socks to a sofa
loaded down with blankets and fresh laundry. At least
something was clean. Poor guy.
“Please,” he said, frantically cleaning the sofa o . “Can I
get you anything?”
“No, thank you.” I took the sofa and Annette sat on a
wooden rocking chair.
He nodded, nervous, and rubbed his hands down his
sweatpants. “Okay, what do I need to do?”
“Sit here.” I patted the seat next to me.
He did and I took his hand in mine, turned it palm up, and
waited for the spell to form in my mind. Even though I knew
it, I knew the symbol, it wouldn’t take shape. I couldn’t
make the spell work.
“I’m sorry.” A nervous laugh bubbled up. “Performance
anxiety.”
He laughed softly. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m just so
worried about her, I’m willing to try anything. If I need to do
jumping jacks or sell my soul, I’m game.”
“No need for that.” At least I hoped not. “Is that Sara?”
One wall was covered with a woman’s pictures. All candid
shots. Long dark hair. Golden bronze skin. She looked South
American and had the curves to prove it.
“Yeah.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is.” His expression turned forlorn.
“Okay, let’s try this again.”
He nodded and gave me his palm. “Are you reading it?”
“No. I have no idea how to read palms. I’m just trying to
get a lock on where Sara is.” I concentrated for a solid five
minutes to no avail. Damn it. I thought I was getting the
hang of this charmling stu . I looked at Annette. “Maybe I
need to be at her house instead? I don’t know.”
“Maybe.” Her expression told a di erent story. I realized
she was uncomfortable to the extreme.
“Wait,” Wade said. “Maybe you need something of hers
to help you get a read.”
“Again, I’ve never done this. Not with a person, anyway.
So, maybe.”
He jumped up and disappeared into a back room.
I looked at Annette, and whispered, “What?”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I just get a weird feeling from this guy.
You’re the one with the gift, though. If you’re okay, I’m
okay.”
I nodded, not sure I was okay with any of this.
He came back in with a necklace in his hand. “How about
this?”
“It’s worth a shot.”
I took it into both my hands, closed my eyes, and
concentrated. The spell fought me. It retreated into dark
corners. I had to use all of my will to get it to come into the
light. When I finally had a hold of it, I stood, turned my back
on Wade, and drew it with two fingers in the air.
Light washed over me as the location spell took hold. I
forgot to chant, like Gigi had said, but it was all I could do
just to keep a hold on the spell.
When I finished the symbol, I pushed it with my palm
into the universe. Then I saw the town like a map in my
mind. It found her almost instantly. I zoomed in. She was in
a dive on the edge of town. I zoomed in again. No. Not in it.
In a wooded area behind it.
 And then I saw the tops of trees. Looking up from the
forest floor, I studied the intricate patterns they made. Birds
flew overhead and my heart slowed until I could no longer
hear it.
My throat closed and I snapped back to the here and now.
Was she dead? Did someone kill her and leave her there? If
so, Wade didn’t need to see that.
The spell, still fighting tooth and nail, burned my palms
and I whirled around to him.
He was shielding his eyes. “That was bright.”
Annette and I exchanged a furtive glance. I recovered
first. “I may have something, but you stay here. We’ll check
it out.”
“What?” He rose to his feet, anger arcing out of him.
“No.” He grabbed his coat. “I’m going with you.”
“Wade, I don’t even know if this worked. Let us check it
out. Make sure it’s even her, first. I’ll call you the minute I
know something.”
He fought to stay civil. The muscles in his face were
pulled taut. His jaw clenched shut. After a moment, he drew
in a lungful of air and forced himself to calm. “Okay. Fine.
You’ll call the minute you find her?”
“Promise.”
He ran a hand through his blond hair and left us alone,
presumably to gather himself. Or dismiss us. Either way.
After almost falling down the stairs, the spell made me so
weak, Annette drove the bug to the Palace Motel and parked
on the side.
“I’ll do this,” I told her. “I don’t know what I’m going to
find. It could be bad.”
“What? No. I’m going. We’re in this together. Besides,
you’re still woozy.”
I almost called Gigi then thought better of it. I could
explain it all later. “Okay, but if you’re scarred for life from
this . . .”
“Deal. No blaming the witch.”
“Right,” I said with a chuckle.
We traipsed around the back of the motel and hiked into
the forest. What had been so clear during the spell looked
convoluted here. Out of place. However, in all honesty, my
sense of direction sucked. I raised my palm and reached out
to find Sara’s essence, like a superhero in a movie only way
less cool.
“This way.”
Annette, knowing how challenged I was with the whole
north-south-east-west thing, asked, “Are you certain?”
We hurried along a trail, ducking branches and swiping at
leaves until we saw it. A body sprawled on the forest floor. A
hand shot to my mouth, and we inched closer.
I stepped on a twig, snapped it in two, and the body
reared up. The woman turned toward us, surprise evident in
her every move.
Once she got a good look at us, she jumped to her feet and
dusted herself o . “Sorry. This isn’t what it looks like.”
“What does it look like?” I asked.
“Well . . .” She struggled to answer my question and then
laughed. “I guess I don’t know. It’s probably not every day
you find a girl laying on the forest floor.”
“That’s true.” My relief was so great, she could’ve been
lying there in the nude and I wouldn’t have cared. Not that I
would’ve cared anyway. To each her own.
“The treetops.” She pointed up.
“The treetops?” Annette asked.
“The patterns they make. I love looking at them, so I
come out here. It’s very soothing.”
“I bet it is.” I stepped forward. “I’m Defiance Dayne.”
“What an unusual name.”
“Yeah. I like to think I earned every syllable.”
 She laughed and sank onto a boulder. “I’m Sara.”
“It’s beautiful out here.” I did a 360, taking in the
scenery. It was all so di erent from the A-Z.
“It is,” she said. “Are you staying at the motel?”
Annette and I looked at each other. The more I studied the
situation, the more I found wrong with it. Sara was clearly
not being held against her will, unless her captors were just
really trusting. Or she was totally cool with it.
I’d brought out my phone to text Wade. Instead, I noticed
several texts from a number I didn’t recognize.
“Is everything okay?”
I bounced back to her. “Yes. Sorry. No, we aren’t staying
at the hotel. Sara, we’ve actually been hired by, well, we
think by your boyfriend. He said you’ve been missing.”
Her face visibly paled and she shot to her feet. “Wade?”
she asked, her gaze darting about.
“Don’t worry.” I raised my palms. “He doesn’t know
where you are.”
“Wade hired you?”
“Yes. I’m guessing that’s a bad thing. Again, he doesn’t
know—”
“Trust me. If you’re here, he knows.”
“Yes, he does,” came a male voice. I pivoted around to see
Wade behind us on the trail. He’d followed us.
This was not happening.
He was holding a knife at his side. A hunting knife like
Rambo’s.
Sara drew a gun out of her jacket. A small semi-automatic
she’d clearly bought for protection against this man. She
pointed it at him, her hands shaking so much I was afraid
she would hit me or Annette.
He tsked her. “Sweetheart, I know how I die. I saw it
when I was a kid, remember?” He gestured toward the gun.
“And that ain’t it.”
 “I have no intention of killing you. Hurting you, however .
. .”
Annette eased toward me and looped her arm in mine.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Sara said, her voice full of hate
and fear. “We used to work together, but he started stalking
me.”
I welded my teeth together. This was what Ruthie meant
by homework. How could I be so stupid? “This is why you’re
here.”
“Yes. I just wanted some peace. I just wanted to feel safe
for five minutes. Drop the knife, Wade.”
“And did she tell you about when we first met?” he asked,
growing vehement himself. “How she smiled and flirted with
me?”
He kept inching closer to us. Annette and I eased to the
side. He cast us a warning glare, so we stopped. But I still
had my phone in my hands. I tried to dial 911 with hardly a
glance at my phone, and I had no idea if it worked.
“I smiled, Wade,” Sara said, “because I’m a nice person. I
smile at everyone.”
He took another step, his anger rising if his splotchy
complexion were any indication. “You told me you liked
me.”
“I felt sorry for you. I thought everyone avoided you
because of your poor social skills. Then I figured out your
social skills were exactly where you wanted them to be.
You’re asshole, plain and simple.”
He rushed forward, pointing the knife at her accusingly.
“And you’re a bitch, just like the rest of them. You flirt when
you want something and ignore when you don’t.”
Sara put her finger on the trigger. He stopped, but at only
a few feet away, still far too close for comfort. He could do a
lot of damage before the bullets even fazed him.
 He tilted his head and grinned. “I told you, babe. I don’t
die by a gun.”
Then he turned toward Annette and me, his face the
picture of evil, and lunged forward, plunging the knife into
my ribcage.
 THIRTEEN

Can anyone tell me if

“the skulls of your enemies”
are dishwasher safe?
-Q&A Forum for Housewives

I figured out somewhere between that first knife thrust and

the second that he was simply trying to disable me so he
could use me as a shield to get to Sara. He jerked me forward.
At the same time, Annette fell back, taking me with her, so
the knife slicing into my flesh didn’t hit the mark he’d
intended.
We screamed as we fell. We screamed harder when he
tried to get me back onto my feet. Thankfully, Annette had a
death grip.
Frustrated, he did the next best thing. He went after me
again with the knife. Two quick thrusts, though both were
deflected by the bulkiness of my winter coat, then he went
after Annette.
As though in slow motion, I watched as the silver blade
plunged downward Before it hit its target, a.k.a. Annette’s
shoulder, Wade was ripped o us. A thunderous burst of
sound, deep and guttural, ricocheted o the trees around us.
At first, I thought Sara had fired the gun. Then I realized,
Wade had been ripped o us by a dog.
We scrambled to our feet and watched in horror as the
dog—no, the wolf—ripped into Wade, its bone-chilling
growl the stu of nightmares. As were Wade’s screams.
My hands shot to my mouth as the wolf tore into his
flesh, the frenzy like nothing I’d ever seen. Like a shark’s.
Fierce. Frantic. Feverish.
It was massive, its red coat thick and shimmering.
Then I realized Wade still had the knife. He buried it into
the wolf’s side. All he got for his e orts was a sharp yelp and
a mouth full of teeth clamping down on his arm. He
screamed again as the wolf, still in an absolute frenzy,
lunged for his throat.
He raised his arm just in time. The wolf’s teeth cut deep
grooves into his face instead.
I couldn’t watch any longer. I ran to Sara, took the gun,
and fired it into the air.
To my surprise, the wolf jolted and turned toward me, its
enormous teeth bloodied and bared as it took me in. I tried to
point the gun at it, just in case, but I was shaking so hard I
could barely hold it steady.
Then I registered sirens. With a quick glance over my
shoulder, I saw a line of police vehicles charging toward us
using a riverfront access road.
The wolf examined his whimpering victim, sni ed him,
then hu ed out a breath, as though his scent had been
o ensive.
Without another thought for its victim, it turned and
trotted deeper into the forest, but not before I got a good
look at the gash in his side and the blood dripping o him. I
made a mental note to call the game warden. Then again,
maybe not. They’d surely destroy him for attacking a human.
Sara sank onto the forest floor and vomited as a small
army descended upon the scene.
Annette’s senses began to clear faster than mine did, and
she ran to Wade who lay mewling in a fetal position.
“Do you die by a wolf?” she asked, kicking his leg. “Is
that how you die, creep?”
A nice police o cer with pecs to die for pulled her o him
while the EMTs checked his wounds.
“Is that how you die?” she yelled as the o cer lifted her
o the ground and dragged her kicking and screaming
toward a patrol car, her hair a box of springs, her glasses
askew.
God I loved her.
When Chief Metcalf put his hands on my shoulders and
looked into my eyes, presumedly to check for shock—either
that or he picked a fine time to notice the blue in my eyes—I
pointed past him, and said simply, “Knife.”
“Hold!” he shouted. The EMTs scrambled back when they
realized there was a knife underneath Wade’s leg.
Surprisingly, Wade was smart enough not to go for it.
Another o cer swooped in and put the knife in an
evidence bag, while a third checked on Sara.
“Defiance?” the chief said, as though talking to a child. Or
a suicide bomber. “Sweetheart, you’re hurt. Let’s get you to
the ambulance, okay?”
“Wolf,” was all I could manage.
“Okay, sure. We’ll get you a wolf, but first let’s get you
checked out.” Though he was teasing, I wondered if they’d
seen the magnificent, nightmarish thing. The thing from my
dreams. The hauntingly beautiful beast that just saved my
life.
Even as they laid me on a gurney, I wondered.
 After a few minutes of oxygen, I was good as new. If not
for the convulsive like shaking, the bile burning the back of
my throat, and the two gashes in my side—thank God for my
parka—I was good to go.
I lay in the back of an ambulance while an older rascally
EMT named Chad checked my vitals for the twelve-
thousandth time.
Annette sat beside him, having given up her life of
vengeance, and the chief sat beside her. It was quite cozy.
“Care to explain?” the chief asked me.
“I didn’t check out his story.” I looked from Annette to
him through tear-filled lashes. “Why didn’t I check out his
story? I could’ve gotten her killed.”
“Correction. We could’ve gotten her killed,” Annette said.
“I’m already slipping on the job and we haven’t even
o cially opened.”
The chief took my hand. “It’s okay, da odil. Even your
grandmother made mistakes.” I suddenly saw the sadness in
his eyes.
“You really love her.” And why wouldn’t he? She was
beautiful and fascinating and smart.
“I do.”
“Do you mind me asking why you never married?”
His laugh was breathy and a little heartbreaking. “I asked.
Month after month. Year after year. She was too classy to
lead me on. She simply told me no. Every time.”
“Why? She loves you, too. I can tell.”
“She was meant for greater things. I knew that. I just
wanted to be a part of her life.”
“You were. You still are, oddly enough.”
His nod was unconvincing.
“Hey, how did you know to come? Did my call get
through?” I took out my phone. Instead of dialing 911, I’d
dialed 7446458023700000002.
 So close.
“No. Your grandmother sent me.”
“She texted me.” Surprised, I opened the texts. “How on
planet Mars did she text me?” She’d sent me about 30 texts,
all of them warning me not to go to Wade’s apartment. “She
can’t possibly get cell reception in the veil.”
“I checked Wade out. Seems he was a suspect in a missing
persons case last year in Ipswich. A young female who looks
startlingly similar to Sara. The case was solved.” He watched
as the ambulance carrying Wade’s quivering body drove
away. “Maybe now it will be.”
“How is Sara?”
“She’s good,” Annette said. “She’s grateful.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me too. I’ll type up a bill.”
“Annette,” I began, but she giggled.
I giggled back and soon what started out as a simple
release of near-death tension turned into the infamous
gigglefest of unprecedented nature, an uncontrollable
monstrosity that defined vulgar and inappropriate at the
same time.
The chief, laughing himself, started to leave. I stopped
him and said through the tears, “I’ve been asked to find
Jameel Touma’s wife. Is she really missing?”
“I’m afraid so. She’s been gone since early this morning.
It’s not looking good.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”

ANNETTE POUNDED on the bathroom door. “Look,” she said,

her voice raised, “I get why you didn’t go to the hospital. You
need stitches but you’ll live. What I don’t get why you’ve
been in the bathroom for the past hour.”
 Apparently, PTSD could strike instantly after a traumatic
event. We hurried home to change and go back out to help
Mr. Touma when I caught a glimpse of the gashes in my side.
That was when it hit me. I could’ve gotten Sara killed. And
Annette. And a gorgeous wolf who could be dying at that very
moment. I sat on the edge of the tub, my limbs to shaky to
hold my weight, waiting to make sure I wasn’t going to
heave.
Another knock sounded at the door.
“I’m almost finished,” I said, eyeing the toilet just in
case. “And after this, I’m going back out to find the wolf.” I
made a mental list of the equipment I would need.
A male voice drifted through the door. “Dephne,
sweetheart.”
I bolted o the tub, opened the door, and flew into the
open arms of my dads.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, the joy I felt
like tiny hearts bursting all around me.
Papi, the younger of the two and, whirled me around as
Dad looked on with a smile on his handsome face.
“Cariña,” Dad said, his serious demeanor ever-present
despite the grin, “we wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
They led me down the stairs. “This house,” Papi said.
“I’m in love.”
“His name is Percival. What are you guys doing here?
Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
They shared a quick glance and Papi shook his head.
“What?” I asked.
“Nope. That’s for your dad to explain. I had nothing to do
with it.”
We sat in the living room, Papi beside me on the sofa and
Dad in the wingback as Annette brought out a tray of co ee,
really getting into this assistant thing.
She grabbed her cup and sat in the second wingback.
 “Did you know they were coming?” I asked her.
“No idea.” Having had a crush on him since high school,
she beamed at my older dad. “But I’m glad.”
“Me too. So,” I said, eyeing Dad suspiciously, “what is
there to explain?”
He reached into his pocket and brought out a letter. “This
is for you.” He handed it to me then leaned in to make him a
cup. Papi did the same, purposely avoiding eye contact.
I opened it and began to read. I stopped immediately and
frowned at them. “I don’t understand.”
“Just read, cariña.”

MY DEAREST DEFIANCE,
If you are reading this, we have not yet met and I have crossed
into the veil. I will try to find a way to communicate with you once
I am there. If I fail, I have left explicit instructions with your
fathers that must be followed to the letter.
Trust them in the coming days. Lean on them for guidance.
You are in grave danger, my darling girl, and I can no longer
protect you.
And know this. You are loved. Beyond measure. Forever and
always.
Every piece of my heart,
Ruthie Goode
Your Grandmother

I SAT A LONG MOMENT, steeping in a sea of confusion. Then I

looked up at the two men I trusted most in the world.
“Exactly how did you know Ruthie?”
Dad bit down, his bronze skin paler than usual. “She
saved Papi’s life. We owed her everything.”
 My body couldn’t decide which emotion to settle on.
Astonishment and dismay warred with a sprinkling of
betrayal. Though it was only a hint, it stung, the pain sharp
and precise, perfectly slicing through the center of my heart.
They’d never told me. They knew who my only living relative
was and never told me.
I folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope,
buying time. All I could think to ask was, “Why didn’t you
tell me about her?”
Papi reached over took my hand. “She asked us not to.
After everything she told us, we agreed.”
His image blurred as wetness formed between my lashes.
I glanced at Annette who sat with her cup hovering at her
mouth.
Then I swallowed back the lump in my throat, and asked,
“What did she tell you?”
“She told us—” he paused and took a sip “—she told us
what you are.”
My breath hitched. “You mean, you’ve known all this
time?”
“We have,” Dad said. Always the pragmatic. The practical
one. The no-nonsense businessman who had all the answers
all the time. The one, if I wasn’t mistaken, who’d never
believed in the spiritual world. In magic or miracles or
premonition.
“And . . . and you’re okay with it?”
“Of course.” Papi leaned in for a quick squeeze.
I looked at Dad. “You don’t believe in any of this. What do
you call it? Mumbo jumbo?”
He had the decency to look guilty. “It was all part of the
plan.”
“To . . . to lie to me?”
He looked away and explained. “Papi had gone hiking in
the Sonoran alone. He fell down an embankment and was
injured.
I looked over at him. At the beautiful man I loved more
than air.
Dad rested a fist over his mouth. It was clearly an
emotional subject. “Search teams scoured the area for three
days to no avail. I’d heard about Ruthie from a friend. I took
a private jet that very night and knocked on her door at three
in the morning.” He looked up at me. “Do you know what
she said to me?”
I’d scooted to the edge of my seat. “What?”
“She looked me up and down, and said, ‘You’re late.’”
A hint of laughter bubbled out of me. “I can see her
saying that. So, she saved Papi’s life?”
“She . . . didn’t, actually.” The look he placed on me, the
element of absolute gratitude, told me what he was going to
say before the words left his mouth. His grave expression
turned even more solemn, and he said, “You did.”
I didn’t know I had a hand over my mouth until I went to
talk. I lowered it and said, “I saved him?”
Papi, with his gilded hair and crystalline blue eyes, took
my hand into his. “You saved my life. You don’t know how
long I’ve waited to thank you.”
He pulled me into a deep hug and I melted against him
until another thought hit me.
I leaned back. “Is that why you agreed to take me in?
Because you owed me?”
“Defiance, you can’t honestly believe that. It’s true we
were beyond honored that she chose us to care for her most
valuable possession, but we did it because we grew to love
you.”
“We visited often after that,” Dad said. “Trust me when I
say Ruthie knew what she was doing. We came almost every
month for a year.”
“A year? How old was I when I saved you, Papi?”
 “You were two.”
Even younger than I had been in the video. “So, Ruthie
didn’t blackmail you into taking me, then?” I laughed softly,
even though the potential answer made me nervous.
Dad stood. This stoic, unflappable man, this gentle giant,
stood and pulled me roughly into his arms, crushing me
against his chest. My favorite place to be crushed.
“We were afraid, mi’ja. Every day we worried Ruthie
would want you back. She would change her mind. So we
cherished every moment with you.”
A sound escaped me that was half laugh and half sob.
“Even the moment I accidentally shaved your head while you
were sleeping?”
“Not that moment, but every other moment, for sure.”
I squeezed so tight, I was sure I’d break his ribs, then I
paused again and pushed away from him. “Wait a minute.”
Anger suddenly flared inside me. “That time I wanted to join
Wicca, you wouldn’t let me. You said it was against God.”
Again with the glances. Papi finally spoke up. “We were
worried you would trigger your powers.”
“You were always so drawn to all things magical,” Dad
said. “You have no idea how often we ran interference.”
Wow. My dads knew. All this time, they knew and worked
hand-in-hand with Ruthie to keep me oblivious. Not to
mention free from danger.
“So, you’re staying?” Papi asked, scanning the room.
“You’re keeping Percival?”
I felt my shoulders deflate. “I don’t think so. I don’t know
how I can, Papi. I can’t a ord him.”
The look of surprise on his face told me that was not the
answer he was expecting.
“What else is going on?” Dad asked, ever perceptive.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I was in my forties
and I still felt like a little girl when they were around. They
were my superheroes. I hated to disappoint them, but . . . “I
don’t know if I can be this person. I almost got three people
and a wolf killed today.”
“A wolf?” Papi asked.
“And the wolf may die anyway.”
“Cariña,” Dad said, an edge to his deep voice, “you have a
calling. It’s not something to be taken lightly.”
“I know. I’ll try to rise to the occasion. I’ll just have to do
it in my own time in a place with a little less upkeep.”
They nodded hesitantly. They did that a lot.
Still, their presence was a calming force. A salve. I felt like
I could tackle another spell. Hopefully without passing out.
There was still a woman out there who needed saving, just
like Papi did.
While I wanted the whole story, Mrs. Touma didn’t have
much time if Ruthie’s constant texting telling me to hurry
was any indication. I would so take her phone away if she
had one.
I stood. They followed suit, like I knew they would.
“I have to use my new gift to find a missing woman
named Siham.”
“We know, cariña.”
Papi socked me softly on the arm, pride evident in his
smile. “Atta girl.”
A bashful shrug overtook me. Honestly, I was twelve
again. “How long are you guys here for? Percy has, like, a
thousand rooms but only ours has a bed in it. We could
always buy—”
“We’ve already reserved a room,” Papi said. “We
wouldn’t dream of intruding. Besides, we have to explore the
town again. We haven’t been here in forty years.” He looked
at Dad. “I wonder if that restaurant on Wharf is still here.”
“Let’s find out.” They leaned in for a quick kiss and my
heart burst with joy. Even though they were busy with the
vineyard, they always made time for each other.
They got up to leave. I stopped them for one last
announcement. “When you come over later, there’s someone
I want to introduce you to.” When they exchanged curious
glances, I added, “Or should I say, reintroduce you to.”
“We look forward to it,” Dad said.
We did another round of hugs before they took o , then I
looked at the grandfather clock, the one that looked like it
barely survived a fire, it was so dark. Almost 3 p.m. I didn’t
have much time before I had to get to Mrs. Richter’s o ce to
cancel the contract.
The way I saw it, I could cancel the contract and then
think on it a few days more. It would give me some time to
come up with a plan. Annette, God bless her, could’ve been
onto something earlier. But that would have to wait.
“Ready?” I asked her.
She stood, straightened her shoulders, and tugged at the
hem of her shirt. “All systems are go, Captain.”
“So, yes.”
She nodded. “A rmative.”
I giggled on the inside. Such a freak.
 FOURTEEN

If you think women are the weaker sex,

try pulling the blankets back to your side.
-Meme

Annette called Chief Metcalf on the way over to Mr. Touma’s

house. They could have found his wife already, which would
be wonderful. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
“You’re going to try?” the chief asked over speakerphone,
his voice infused with hope.
“Yes. We’re on our way. Chief, I can’t promise—”
“I know. Thanks, da odil.” A warmth spread over me at
his endearing term. I wondered if he’d called me that as a
kid.
We pulled up to a small but well-maintained house. Two
patrol cars were parked in front. One was the chief’s. He
came out, his expression dire.
“He’s in bad shape, da . Just wanted to warn you.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re afraid she’s in the water somewhere. Maybe got
swept out to sea.”
 My heart sank. If I’d mastered this earlier instead of
messing around. If I’d listened to Ruthie . . .
“I understand.”
With a nod of encouragement, he escorted us inside. Mr.
Touma was standing at a window that overlooked the water,
and the chief’s words became much more plausible.
“Mr. Touma?” I said, approaching him slowly.
He turned to me, his dark skin ashen, his eyes red-
rimmed. He didn’t remember me. He’d gone to the house
expecting to see Ruthie, so it was no wonder. And I couldn’t
imagine how many people had come and gone from his
house since Siham’s disappearance.
“We spoke this morning? I’m Ruthie’s granddaughter.”
“Ruthie?” His face lit up until he remembered. “She’s
gone.”
“Yes. I’ll try to help if you’d like me to.”
A spark of hope lit his face. “Please, yes. She’s been gone
for hours. What can I do?”
“I’ll let you know. Is this hers?” I asked, pointing to a
shawl.
He nodded.
The cop that had dragged Annette o of Wade Scott, thus
saving the man’s life at the rate she’d been going, was there,
too. He looked on curiously until Chief Metcalf sent him out
of the room.
Disappointed, he nodded and went to wait outside. But
not before giving Annette a quick once-over. He did it
inconspicuously. Annette didn’t even notice. I damned sure
did.
I had my impression of Mr. Touma. He presented as a
distraught loving husband. Still, there was always that
chance he’d harmed his wife.
That was where Annette came in. I stepped to her. “What
are your impressions?”
 She did a doubletake as though wondering who I was
talking to. “Me?” she asked, pointing to herself.
“You have a much better sense of people than I do. If I’d
listened to you with Wade, I would never have put Sara’s life
in danger. From now on, you’re in charge of initial reactions
and gut instincts, which I clearly lack.”
“I just don’t trust anyone,” she said, lifting a shoulder.
“Makes things simple.”
“And there you go.”
“Okay, but does this promotion come with a raise? I have
children to feed.”
“You have a gerbil named Luke Skywalker.”
“And?”
I laughed softly. “Okay. I’ll give you a ten percent raise.
No,” I said, holding up a finger, “make it twenty.”
“Sweet. Twenty percent of nothing is . . .” She did the
math in the air.
“Exactly. It sounds good in theory, though.”
“It does. For the record, I think Mr. Touma is a man
grieving deeply over his missing wife. He would never hurt
her. Look at this place.”
I scanned the room. While tidy, it was a bit cluttered with
knickknacks, embroidery hoops, and knitting needles.
“It’s practically a shrine to his wife. His whole life
revolves around her. Deph, if we don’t find Mrs. Touma, he
won’t be far behind.”
So, two deaths on my head because I couldn’t get my act
together sooner. Wonderful.
“Thank you.”
I picked up the shawl and stepped to the middle of the
room. The moment I touched it, before I even started the
spell, a coldness came over me, and I tumbled into Mrs.
Touma’s world.
 She was surviving on her baser instincts. Get out of the
cold. Drink water. Find shelter from the wind. Fear reigned
over her every move. Her every scattered thought.
Shivering, I watched as my breath fogged on the air. The
room turned an icy blue and frost crept across the furniture,
the ice crystals shimmering and crackling in the frigid air.
I raised a tremoring hand, drew the spell, and pushed it
into what I was beginning to understand was the veil. The
spiritual realm all around us. Before I could find her, Mrs.
Touma’s thoughts tugged at me. Unable to get my footing, I
slipped under and fought just to stay conscious. I knew I
would die if I didn’t.
Don’t let go.
Then I saw it. I whirled around. Metal encased me on all
sides, the walls dark. Industrial. The smell of brine and steel
and animal feces overpowering. And my arm hurt. Pain shot
through me like nothing I’d ever felt.
Don’t let go.
Mostly, the cold sliced into me. It cramped my muscles,
my feet turning in on themselves, the cold so merciless.
But I couldn’t let go. The monsters would get me if I let
go.
“Defiance!”
I heard a voice. Male. Powerful. My lids snapped open and
I was on my knees, backed into a corner in Mr. Touma’s
living room. I had both hands in front of me as though
fending o an attack.
“Defiance,” the chief said. He took hold of my shoulders
and lifted me up. I stumbled but he kept a strong hold.
“Something’s wrong,” I said, panicked. “She’s not in
water, but it’s nearby. She’s in a warehouse.” I pleaded with
him. “We have to hurry.”
The chief left the o cer in charge of Mr. Touma and we
took his cruiser.
 “I can’t pinpoint her location.” I held my head with both
hands to try to force it to calm. “It’s like chaos.”
Annette was in the backseat, nearing a state of panic.
“This is worse than that time I ran over that kid with a golf
cart.”
“Since you barely bumped him, I’m going to say, yes,
Annette. This is definitely worse.”
“Just tell me where to go, sweetheart.”
“Breathe,” Annette said. “Remember to Lamaze.”
My thoughts somersaulted again and I squeezed my eyes
shut. “She’s so cold.”
“I’m going toward the port. Does anything look
familiar?”
But I couldn’t open my eyes without the horizon tilting.
Without getting seasick.
“Defiance!” Annette said, forcing me to listen. “Deep
breaths. Slow your heart. Think about the yoga instructor we
hated so much and everything she taught us. Meditate. Clear
your mind.”
Bizarrely, Annette was getting through. I concentrated on
my heartbeat. On the sound of blood in my ears. On the pulse
at my neck.
“There,” I said, pointing to our right.
My eyes weren’t open, so the chief said, “Here? You’re
sure?”
I nodded. I could see her clearly now, and although I was
still in her mind, I could finally control just how much.
When I lifted my head and saw the size of the warehouse,
I almost lost hope. “It’s huge.”
“It is. We may have to split up. I’ll call in more help, too.”
He slid to a stop by a side door that faced the waterfront.
“We’ll meet you inside.”
Annette and I hurried toward the entrance. There were
men working in one small section. We rushed up to them.
 Annette took charge. “There’s a woman missing. She’s
lost and disoriented. We think she’s in here. Can you help us
look?”
The foreman nodded and a sharp whistle split the air as
he called his workers over. While she explained the situation,
I wandered toward the racket in my head.
This was di erent from the first two spells. Ruthie told
me each time she used a spell it created its own special twist.
She wasn’t kidding.
“Hey,” someone called out to me. “You can’t go back
there without a helmet.”
I felt a helmet magically appear on my head. It wasn’t the
spell. Someone put one on me. I kept walking. Searching. So
cold. The metal was so cold.
The chief came in and I heard him talking to the foreman.
“We have more o cers coming. Just send them this way.”
The mammoth structure, made for working on ships, had
o ces and small rooms o to the sides. My arm started
aching again, I just couldn’t figure out why. And I was up so
high.
Realization dawned and I looked up. Whirled around. Mrs.
Touma was somewhere above. Somewhere with a floor but
without one.
“What does that even mean?” I asked the air.
“What are you seeing?” Annette asked.
“She’s somewhere with a floor but without one. She’s
somewhere high because there are monsters below her feet.
Teeth and claws.”
“Rats!” she said. “There are rats below her.”
I stopped and nodded at her. “Yes. The space is cramped
yet it goes on forever.
It hit us both at the same time, and we said
simultaneously, “An elevator shaft.”
 We turned and Annette yelled. “An elevator shaft!
Where?”
The foreman jogged up, pointing to a gate about fifty feet
in front of us. “She can’t be in there. The gates are locked.
The elevator hasn’t worked in weeks.”
That was it. “Chief, can you go up a couple of floors? We’ll
look down here.”
He nodded, took one of the workers, and hurried for the
stairs.
We rushed to the gates but could hardly see into the
darkness beyond. Unfortunately, we could hear. Rats
squeaked just beyond the metal grating.
The foreman grabbed a flashlight from his belt and
shoved a hand through the gate.
“Wait,” I said a microsecond before he turned it on. “It
could startle her. She could fall.”
Amazingly, he listened to me. Hoping beyond hope she
couldn’t see my light, I put my hand into the gate and drew
an illumination spell.
“There.” On the maintenance ladder about fifty feet up,
Siham Touma was clasping to the rungs. Her fragile body
shivering. Her strength waning.
Though she’d wrapped an arm around a rung, she was
losing her grip on both consciousness and the ladder. The
cold had twisted her muscles, drained her of her will to
survive until she could hold on no longer.
And she slipped soundlessly to her death.
One minute, I watched in horror as her gown flapped in
the air, the fall impossibly fast. The next minute I stood
under her, palms raised as she hovered over my head. She
was enveloped in a soft glow as though time itself were
basking in her presence. Her gown billowed around her. Her
gray hair floating as though she were in water.
 I lowered her slowly to the cement ground. The rats had
disbursed. Their excrement, however, had not. There was
nothing I could do about that now.
The moment her feet touched the ground, I wrapped my
arms around her to steady her. She didn’t hesitate. She
curled her arms around my waist, but her body was warm
now.
“Mrs. Touma,” I said, holding her with one arm while
ripping my coat o with the other. I switched arms and after
a struggle that would’ve made Houdini proud, wrapped it
around her shoulders “Your husband sent me.”
“Jameel?” she asked, her voice as fragile as her mind. “He
sent me an angel?”
I smiled and turned to help her out of the shaft only to
come face-to-face with Annette and the foreman.
Both stood mannequin-still, their mouths agape. Unlike
most mannequins.
“Are they angels, too?” she asked.
With an amused grin, I nodded. “That they are. Be careful
of the curly-haired one. She’s more angel-adjacent.”
“Okay,” she said, believing every word of it. “Sweetheart,
why are we here again?”
I pulled her closer, trying not to cringe at the thought of
her bare feet in the filth below us. “We’re here because
someone decided to go on a walkabout.”
“Me, right?”
“Yes. Hey, at least you got your money’s worth. This
warehouse is cool.”
There was a step up to get out of the shaft, but the two
gawkers stood gawking and were absolutely no use
whatsoever.
“Don’t help or anything,” I said, teasing them.
I got Mrs. Touma up to the step just as a group of workers
ran up to us. They helped her first then lifted me out. “Thank
you.”
Then they looked at their foreman. “I think you broke
Bob,” one of them said.
Bob the foreman had yet to move. Had yet to blink. He
only managed one word. “How?”
Annette recovered about the time I noticed some of the
workers examining a wall. Or, more to the point, the gate to
the elevator that had lodged into the wall. The metal wall.
The one with a gate sticking out of it perpendicular to said
wall.
“Wow,” I said, covering my ass. “That’s so weird.”
Annette followed my gaze and her eyes rounded even
more. She sucked in a sharp breath, then coughed before
playing it o . “That is weird, Defiance. Maybe we should go
before anything else weird happens. Like that microburst of
wind that ripped that metal gate right o its metal hinges.”
Chief Metcalf slid to a stop in front of us as one of his
o cers took charge of Mrs. Touma. Apparently, the cavalry
had arrived and O cer Pecs had taken point.
The chief looked from me to the gate to Mrs. Touma then
back to me. “Gosh,” he said, rubbing his close-cropped
head. “You don’t see that every day.”
“Right?” Annette released a nervous laugh. “Well, I guess
we should go.”
“Wait.” Mrs. Touma raised her hand to me. The o cer
had brought a folding chair and sat her in it so he could wrap
her head-to-toe in a blanket. Then he took o his own jacket
and put it under her bare feet to wait for the ambulance. If
the sirens were any indication, it was almost there.
The men were talking and pointing and looking back at
me. Bob had yet to move.
I knelt beside her and she put a hand on my face. “You’re
still glowing.”
 “I know.” I waved a dismissive hand. “I left my shine-
control powder at home.”
She laughed softly. But when she touched me, I didn’t feel
the confusion I’d felt before. I felt clarity. I felt the fogless,
razor-sharp mind of her youth.
“Siham?” a man said from behind me.
I turned to see Mr. Touma.
“Oh, Jameel.” She raised her arms and he bent to hug her.
“I was so scared. I couldn’t remember where I was and then I
was bathed in warm light.”
He reared back and studied her. “You recognize me?”
A knowing smile lit her beautiful face. “Of course, I do.”
Annette and I stepped away. Quickly. Before the questions
avalanched. I knew we had a connection for life, Mrs. Touma
and I.
“So, way to go,” Annette said. “Let’s not draw attention
to ourselves and send out a beacon to every evil witch within
a thousand-mile radius.”
“I know, I know. Let’s just get out of here.”
“By the way.” She stopped and turned me by my
shoulders to face her. “Wow.”
“How much of that did you see?”
“None of it. It happened too fast. Well, maybe a little of a
floating woman, but that could be chalked up the to the
microburst.”
We headed out the door again before I realized we had no
vehicle. Where was a vintage mint green Volkswagen Beetle
when I needed one?
“And just where did that come from? The microburst?” I
asked her.
She shrugged.
“Genius. Pure, unmitigated genius. You’re getting
another raise. No,” I said, holding up my palm. “Don’t try to
talk me out of it.”
 The wind cut me to the bone the minute we stepped out,
and I remembered I’d given my coat to Mrs. Touma. That
was the last thing I remembered, other than the pavement
rushing toward my face. Damn spells.
 FIFTEEN

I’m giving up drinking for a month.

Sorry, bad punctuation.
I’m giving up. Drinking for a month.
-Meme

The smell of co ee, along with my dad’s deep voice, lured

me out of the most blissful sleep I’d had in years. I groaned
and pulled the comforter over my head.
“I’m telling you, cariña, you’re going to want some of
this. It’s the best co ee I’ve ever had. Ethiopian, I think. Papi
and I found it in a little shop on Wharf.”
He was right. Damn it. I lowered the comforter and smiled
up at my handsome dad. Or, well, dads, as they were both in
my room and I was back in elementary school, when they
would wake me up in the mornings together, only they
didn’t do it with co ee. Back then, it was chocolate milk or
bust.
I scooted back and rested against the headboard, only
realizing then that I was not in my room in Arizona. Ruthie’s
artifacts lay strewn around me, which meant Annette had
probably been sleeping next to me. A quick glance assured
me she was already up.
“What time is it?” I asked, taking a cup from Papi, his
blond hair still wet from a recent shower. “And why is your
hair wet? Is your hotel room that close?”
“We showered here. We’ve been staying in a guest room.”
I snorted. “That couldn’t have been comfortable. There
are no beds in the guest rooms.”
He flashed me a nuclear smile. “There are now. We found
an incredible antique shop.”
“Several really,” Dad said.
“Several, and we took it upon ourselves to—”
“Wait.” I put the cup down and pulled myself to a better
position. “How long have I been asleep. What time is it?”
Papi looked at his watch. “It’s seven p.m. Give or take.”
“Oh, my God.” I jumped out of bed and searched
frantically for my clothes. Any clothes. A hazmat suit would
do. “Where are my clothes?”
“We’re doing laundry.”
“Oh, no. I mean, thank you. Of course. I just need to get to
Mrs. Richter’s. Today’s the last day I can back out of the
contract.”
“And why is that?” Dad asked, giving me a dubious look.
“Three days. Isn’t that the law? You have three days to
change your mind after you’ve signed a contract?”
I found a pair of sweat pants and a Three Doors Down T-
shirt. No idea who they belonged to, but they’d do. And I
called dibs on the TDD shirt. The room spun a little as I
bounced out of my pajamas and into the sweat pants,
heedless of my dads looking on. They’d certainly seen me in
worse situations.
“Okay, first o ,” Papi said when I lost my balance and fell
into the wall headfirst, “why are you trying to back out of
the contract? And second o , why do you think you have
three days to do it?”
I recovered but stopped mid-bounce. “Because. There’s a
law. Right?” My heart started to race. Had I been wrong?
Wasn’t there a law?
“Well, there are those types of laws. They’re di erent for
each state. Even if Massachusetts has such a law, it takes a
lot to get a real estate contract reverted. In other words,
you’d better have a really good reason.”
After straightening and dropping the sweats, I hobbled to
the bed, dragging one pant leg behind me. “No way. I was
counting on that law. I would never have signed the papers
had I known I couldn’t get out of it.”
Percy shook the floor, rattling a lamp on Ruthie’s
nightstand.
“Why, mi’ja?”
“It’s not you, Percy. I just can’t do right by you. You need
someone who can take care of you. As much as I love you,
love doesn’t pay the taxes.” Then I turned to my dads. “My
neighbor has already o ered to buy him. Parris Hamilton.”
Percy shook the walls even harder. Dust filtered from the
ceiling.
My dads looked around but didn’t seem too alarmed.
“Yes, we met her. According to Ruthie’s will, Percival can’t
be sold for a year either way.”
“I know. Then what? He would just sit here with no one to
take care of him?”
They shrugged. I’d have to ask her what she’d been
thinking with that little stipulation.
“And, I think you’re going to want to see this.” Papi took
a check out of his wallet and tried to hand it to me.
I held up a hand. “No. I can’t take your money.”
Dad stood. “You and your pride, cariña.”
 “Dad, it’s not pride. I just can’t keep coming to you for
my every need.”
“Why? When we took you in, we made an oath.”
“Did that oath bind you for the rest of eternity? That
hardly seems fair.”
Papi cleared his throat and slid a quick glare at Dad.
“What your father means, sweetheart, is that this isn’t our
money. It’s yours.”
“Right.” I took the check and stilled. $50,000. “What the
hell? I can’t accept this. Are you crazy?”
“I told you.” He took my hand. “It’s yours. It’s the first
installment to pay you back for your half of the restaurant.”
“The restaurant?” I stood and paced, dragging the leg
along with me.
“If you’d told us what was going on,” Dad said, his Latino
accent thicker now with irritation, “none of that would have
ever happened.”
“How did you get this?”
“It’s a little thing called a good lawyer. Cariña, you let
them walk all over you. We taught you better than that.”
Shame burned through me. They really had taught me
better. “It was my bed,” I said, repeating the same motto I’d
adopted since I was served divorce papers. On the day of our
fifth wedding anniversary, no less.
“If you ever say something that inane to me again, I’ll
bend you over my knee.”
“Dad, I’m forty-four.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy.”
Laughter trickled out of me. “I don’t know what to say.
This means I can keep him. I can keep Percy, but then I’ll be
across the country from you.”
“I don’t know. We’ve been eyeing a farmhouse for sale in
Ipswich.”
 “Really?” I asked in disbelief. “You’d move here?” When
they only grinned at each other, I lunged forward and
hugged them. “What about the vineyard?”
“Ricardo practically runs it anyway. Has for years.”
Then another thought hit me. I stood and waved the check
at them. “How did all of this happen so fast?”
“Told you. Good lawyers.”
“Dad.” I gave him my best dubious scowl. “Those cartel
ties from your past didn’t have anything to do with this, did
they?”
“Cartel is a very strong word for what I was involved with
in my youth. And, no. I told you. A good lawyer will do
wonders.”
“Then, I don’t get it. They were just here, like, yesterday,
threatening to take Percy from me.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Dad’s face turned an
unhealthy shade of fuchsia. Not that there was a healthy one.
“They did what?”
“Nothing. They were just being dicks. Chief Metcalf ran
them out of town. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
Papi patted the bed beside him. “Sweetheart, sit down.”
I sat beside him again, then bent and put my other leg in
before it got awkward.
“Honey, you’ve been unconscious for two days.”
I’d stood to pull the sweats all the way up, since that
seemed to be the style nowadays, but I stopped and looked at
him. “Two days?” I sank back onto the bed.
“Ruthie said it was the spell. It was very powerful.”
“You spoke to Ruthie?”
“Yes. Annette panicked when she couldn’t wake you and
brought up the app. Or the file. Or the video chat. What is
that, by the way?”
“No idea.”
 “Annette told us what happened. The gate? The floating
woman?”
“Right. There was a microburst.”
“Sweetheart, Ruthie tried to tell us how powerful you
were, but we just had no idea.”
“How did you do it?” Dad asked.
“I have no clue, guys. One minute I’m watching that poor
woman fall to her death from outside the gate, and the next
I’m inside with my arms up, holding her in midair, and there
is no gate. It was like a dream. Or an acid trip. Or a Marvel
movie.”
“You’re amazing, cariña.”
“Beyond,” Papi said.
I lowered my head. “I’m really not.”
“It’s about time.” Annette walked in carrying my laptop.
“Someone wants to see you.” She cradled the thing like she
was bringing a baby to a new mother. Then I realized Ink was
on the keyboard. His tail draped over the side and swished
back and forth in annoyance at having his throne moved.
“He won’t get o and I’m trying to talk to Ruthie.”
Ah. She’d graduated from Mrs. Goode to Ruthie.
I scooched back on the bed, pulled Ink to me, and waved
at my latest acquisition. “Hey, Gigi.”
The pride in her eyes, I expected. The anger, not so much.
“What were you thinking? Doing such a powerful spell like
that so soon? You could’ve died, Defiance. I have half a mind
to ground you.”
The smile I fought won out in the end and spread across
my face. “Thank you, grandma.”
She raised a brow.
“Sorry. Gigi. Thank you.”
“Oh.” She waved a hand and looked away, the wetness in
her eyes breaking free.
“For them,” I said, pointing to my dads.
 Papi took Dad’s hand in his.
“For Percy.”
She still didn’t look at me.
“For keeping me alive.”
“Barely.” She finally turned back to me. “Barely,
Defiance. Do you know what would happen if you hadn’t
made it?”
“Not really.”
“My entire life would have been for naught. All the
sacrifices I made. Not being able to watch you grow up.”
“I’m sorry, Gigi.”
She bent her head and put a hand over her eyes. After a
moment, she removed it and said, “Also, I have never, in all
of the thirty-nine years I walked the earth—”
Annette and I both giggled.
“—heard of anything so magnificent. So magical.” She
put a hand over her heart. “I didn’t even know something
like that was possible.”
“Me neither,” Annette said, leaning in for a high five.
“Did the chief tell you what happened?”
“And Annette.”
Annette? My BFF was definitely moving up in the world. I
was this close to legally changing her name to Nannette.
“Though neither seemed to have actually seen anything,
which is both frustrating and a relief. Hopefully no one else
did either.”
“I didn’t do the spell on purpose, Gigi. It just kind of
happened.”
She shook her head. “I’m so honored, Defiance, to be a
part of your life.”
“Yep,” Annette said, reaching over for a second high five,
mostly because I had to lean forward and every movement I
made annoyed Ink.
“As are we,” my dads said.
 “Let me get this straight,” I said to them, “since we’re on
the subject. I was laying here, knocking on death’s door, and
you two went shopping for antiques?”
“Can you blame us?” Papi asked. “The stores here are to
die for.”
Speaking of knocks, someone was at the door downstairs.
I got the feeling that was going to happen a lot.
“Got it!” Annette said and lumbered o the bed, shaking
it as much as possible. Again, to annoy Ink.
“So,” I said, biting a cuticle, “what do you guys think of
Roane?”
Papi spoke first. “From Annette’s description, he’s a
looker.”
Dad agreed with a nod.
“Wait, you’ve been here two days and you haven’t met
him yet?”
They glanced at each other in question, both shaking their
heads.
“Did he leave?” I asked Ruthie.
“Not that I know of, but I don’t get out much, dear.”
The fault line between my brows emerged.
“It’s the bank robber guy,” Annette said.
Mr. Bourne, a large man with exquisite skin, followed her
into the room. “Please excuse the interruption. I was in the
neighborhood.”
“That’s okay. I meant to come by. Instead, I went into a
short but strangely refreshing coma.”
“I’m . . . sorry.”
“Thanks. You were robbed?”
“I was never robbed, Ms. Dayne.”
“But you said—”
“You said, actually.” A grin played about his mouth. “I’ve
been trying to get you to sign these papers for the last
week.”
 “Oh, no.” I waved an index finger. “I’m not signing
anything else as long as I live.”
“Trust me.” He stepped forward. “You’ll want to sign
these.”
Dad stood and took them from him.
“It’s your account information, your signature card and
your bank card. I don’t normally make house calls.”
“I don’t have an account with you, Mr. Bourne.”
“No, but your grandmother did. I’ve been trying to tell
you for days. She left you a sizable inheritance.”
“I know. I’ve already signed the papers on the house.”
“These papers are di erent.”
I eyed him with as much suspicion as I could muster.
“How di erent?”
“You’re quite well o , Ms. Dayne.”
“You’re quite funny, Mr. Bourne.” Though I did have a
check for fifty grand burning a hole in my pocket. Not that I
would dare count my chickens until it cleared.
“No, I mean it,” he said to both me and my dads when
they cast him a surprised expression. “I wouldn’t normally
say something this gauche, but to put it mildly, Ms. Dayne,
you’re rich.”
I paused and gave him a good once over, trying to assess
the state of his mental health. “No way.”
“You’re loaded.”
“How loaded?”
“Mercedes S-Class loaded.”
“Yes!” I threw my fist into the air in celebration. “I can
buy another sandwich! Or,” I said, my mind racing, “a
lobster roll.”
I looked down and realized Gigi was pretending to be on
pause again, so I had to try not to laugh while mouthing the
words, “Thank you.”
 Her pause face faltered and the barest hint of a grin
shined through.
“So, I take it we’re staying?” Annette asked me after
everyone left. My dads went to get takeout from Dube’s. I’d
heard they had great seafood. Good thing because my
stomach was singing the song of her people.
I shrugged. “Welcome to Massachusetts.”
“Yes,” she said. “Are those my sweats?”
 SIXTEEN

If he eats French fries with a fork,

he’s probably not going to do that
thing you like with his tongue.
-True fact

I decided to storm the dungeons and invite Roane up to

dinner. He hadn’t surfaced in two days. That worried me.
Though the stairs creaked as I stepped down them, the
basement itself was much brighter than I thought it would
be. The last steps ended in an open commons area with three
heavy doors on three distressed walls. Plaster and paint had
cracked and peeled to reveal beautiful stonework
underneath. Like a treasure just waiting to be uncovered, and
I couldn’t help but wonder if someone distressed the walls
on purpose.
I tried the thick wooden door on the left first. It was
clearly Ruthie’s magic room. I inched inside, the musty
basement scent giving way to the aroma of dried plants and
rich oils. My fingers brushed across a light switch on the wall
closest to me. I flipped it. Instead of an incandescent bulb
lighting the room, a series of gas lanterns on the walls
flickered to life, their flames creating a soft glow.
Bunches of greenery hung drying upside down from a
clothesline overhead. Dozens of jars of herbs and flowers and
eyes of newt lined the walls with utensils and a work area in
the center. I half expected to see a cauldron for boil and
bubble. Instead, it was more medicinal, like an alchemist’s
pharmacy from the sixteenth century.
I turned out the lanterns—something I never thought I’d
do—and tried the middle door. It was locked, so I assumed
that one was Roane’s apartment and went to check out the
one on the right before invading his space.
The heavy door, identical to the first two, swung wide and
I stepped inside an apartment any New Yorker would’ve been
proud to call home. It was modern and luxurious like a
penthouse on Fifth Avenue.
“Hello?” I said softly. When I didn’t get an answer, I
continued deeper inside.
Blacks blended into grays, but the color scheme was
where any resemblance to the rest of the house ended. This
was a contemporary designer’s dream. Clean. Well-lit. Sharp
lines, industrial touches, and stainless appliances.
I walked through slowly, taking in what was essentially
Roane. Had he decorated it? Or remodeled it? Was this his
design? If so, he took the label of journeyman to a whole new
level.
After a search of a bedroom o to the side that had the
same rugged, industrial feel punctuated with slate blues and
hazelnut, I went into the living room. The light from the
kitchen barely filtered this far, and I didn’t want to turn on
the floor lamp on my right. I was trying not to actually touch
anything since I was essentially breaking and entering. He
clearly wasn’t here.
Maybe, just this once, I could . . .
 I cast an illumination spell. It vibrated along my fingers
and cast a soft glow that filled the room. I looked at the old
maps he had on his walls, the stacks of books on the floor,
and the furniture that looked straight out of a design
magazine. And atop one particular piece of furniture lay a
sensuous creature of both Celtic and Viking descent.
Even asleep, Roane radiated a soft, quiet kind of danger.
His sculpted body lay prone across the couch. He wore jeans,
no less, cut low on his hips, his bare feet hanging o the
edge. The scars on his left ankle almost visible. His hands
were clasped at this stomach. His tattoo-covered chest bare.
It rose and fell in an even rhythm.
Ink had found his way downstairs and was sprawled on
his shoulder against the sofa back, his head snuggled against
Roane’s cheek. The sweetness level in the room skyrocketed,
making the man even sexier. A feat I didn’t think possible.
Seeing them together at last debunked my whole
shapeshifter theory. Which, in the grand scheme of things,
had been an odd thing to think in the first place.
I didn’t dare wake him. I did, however, want to
commemorate the moment. Or just be a total perv. Either
way.
In my defense concerning the sin I was about to commit,
the total disrespect for his privacy, he was a work of art. The
hills and valleys covered in ink. The perfect lines of his face.
The smooth stubble framing a chiseled mouth. And his
hands. Holy heaven. Large and strong and yet somehow
elegant.
After wrangling my phone out of a pocket in the sweat
pants, I opened the camera app and held it up to him.
Without opening his eyes, he asked, “Are you taking my
picture?”
I almost dropped the phone. Well, I did drop it, then I
spent the next thirty seconds trying to catch it, only to swat
it away and send it crashing against his wall. I hurried to
pick it up, cooing and stroking it. Trying to convince us both
it would be okay.
Once I had it firmly in my grasp, I turned back to him.
“What? No. And unless you can see through your eyelids, you
have no proof.”
“Ink told me. He’s like a bodyguard.”
“He’s like an asshole.”
“That too. Want to join me?”
He had yet to open his eyes. That was a good thing,
because those shimmering olive irises had superpowers.
They sapped my strength and siphoned my brain cells faster
than a gang of frat boys could siphon a keg.
Despite every atom in my body screaming to do
otherwise, I said, “I’m okay here.”
He finally lifted his lids and, just as I suspected, my brain
disappeared. His gaze traveled over me. That was okay,
though. My gaze traveled over him, as well.
“You slept for a long time,” he said.
“Yes, and that’s the last time I prick my finger on a
spindle. Who knew curses were a real thing?”
Trying not to disturb Ink, he scooted out from under him
and rose to get a shirt. I fought a wave of depression over
that fact.
When he turned his back to me, I looked at the tattoo
there. At the symbol etched over an early map of Salem. At
the spell.
I stepped to him and lifted my hand to touch it. To
smooth my fingers over the lines, the contact like closing an
electrical current.
How did he know what this was? Or did he?
He straightened when my fingers touched the tattoo.
Stilled. Looked at me through his periphery from over his
shoulder.
 “Do you know what this is?” I asked.
After a moment, he answered. “Yes.”
“How?”
He dropped his gaze to the shirt in his hands. “Something
that happened a long time ago.”
Then I noticed he had a bandage wrapped around his
lower waist where he’d had his hands clasped. I scanned the
living room a little closer now that my eyes had adjusted.
Bloody bandages filled a small trash can and lay on the
co ee table in front of the sofa along with a bottle of
hydrogen peroxide and pain pills.
Alarm raced over my skin. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I slipped while using a paint scraper and paid
the price.”
My hand drifted down to his right side. His injured side. I
knew not only where the wound was, but how it got there.
Yet how did I know?
Then it hit me. When he’d turned toward me after I’d
fired the gun. The wolf. Olive green eyes almost glowing.
I backed away from him. My mind had somehow settled
on shapeshifter even when I thought magic and witches and
spells complete fiction. Somewhere in the back of my mind
the truth sat hidden.
He didn’t look at me for a long moment as I stood there
absorbing the facts. Trying to make sense of them.
I decided to start with the simplest question. “How do you
know that spell?”
His jaw worked as he bit down. After a long moment, he
finally answered. “Because you used it to find me when we
were kids.”
I swayed slightly and had to brace my palm against a wall.
“You were the boy in the video,” I said, my lungs struggling
for air. “The one who was missing. But the woman, your
mother, had a di erent last name.”
 “As did I. She changed both our names after my father
was convicted of attempted murder.”
I covered my mouth and said from behind it, “He was
going to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Okay, I get that, but how, Roane, are you a
shapeshifter?”
He laughed softly and shook his head, preparing to deny
it.
“How are you a wolf?”
Unable to make sense of his T-shirt, he tossed across the
room then strode to his kitchen, took out a bottle of beer,
and downed it. He took out another and leveled an
expression on me that could only be described as distrustful.
Because I was onto him? Because I’d figured it out?
I’d seen him in my dreams days before I saw him in real
life. It was as though the minute Ruthie passed away, the
minute her protection spell was broken, all of this knowledge
came back to me. I just had to pry most of it out.
“You saved my life,” I said.
His shimmering gaze studied me as he took another swig.
“I would be dead if not for you. As would Annette and
Sara. Wade would have killed us all.”
“Yeah, well, you saved mine first.”
He slammed the bottle on the counter and walked into his
bedroom. I heard the shower come on and I followed the
sound. He was angry, though I didn’t think that anger was
directed at me. Or, at least, not solely at me.
His jeans lay on the floor and he stood with a towel
around his hips in the bathroom trying to remove the blood-
soaked bandage.
“Did you go to the hospital?”
He sco ed. “Don’t you mean the vet?”
“Roane.” I stepped to him.
 He kept working on the bandage furiously.
“I’m staying,” I said. “I’m going to live here.”
“Good for you. Unfortunately, I’m not. It’s time I move
on.”
I realized he was not angry but embarrassed. Why else
behave this way from my figuring out his secret?
He tugged too hard on the bandage and ripped his wound
open. “Fuck.” He threw tattered gauze in the trash, dropped
the towel, and strode into the shower. It was the kind that
had two staggered rock walls instead of a shower door.
I took Annette’s sweats o so I wouldn’t drench them,
then entered the exquisite thing with only a T-shirt and my
underwear.
He stood leaning against the wall, one arm braced above
his head, water cascading down his magnificent back and
over his steely buttocks.
“Let me look,” I said, this time with more authority.
It didn’t work. He didn’t move. He just let the water drain
the blood o his wound, which was on his side below his
ribcage and above his hip.
The cut was narrow but deep. I’d watched in horror as the
knife sank into his flesh.
“You need stitches.”
“I need you to leave.”
Out of respect for his wishes, I would leave. Before I did,
however, I stepped closer. Ignoring the splash of water, I
raised my hand and drew a spell on his skin over the wound.
His muscles bunched and he sucked in a sharp breath
through his teeth. I sealed the wound then turned to leave
him alone.
“It’s not healed,” I said just before stepping out. “It’s
only closed. It’ll still take time to heal.” I walked out of the
stall.
His words stopped me. “I’m not the boy.”
 After pivoting back to him, I stood on the threshold. “I
don’t understand.”
He raked a hand through his wet hair, the red even darker
now. “The boy died.”
Trying to grasp his meaning, I asked, “The boy I found in
the video?”
“Yes.”
“But you are the boy I found in the video. That’s the
symbol. You said I saved your life.”
“Mine. Not the boy’s.”
“Roane, I don’t understand.” I grabbed a towel and went
back in.
He turned o the water and accepted it, but he wouldn’t
look at me, his normally hawklike gaze nowhere in sight.
He didn’t use the towel on himself, however. Water had
splashed onto my arms and face. He lifted it, looking up at
last through spiked lashes, and blotted the water o my
cheeks and mouth.
His nearness warmed me even more than the steam and
scalding water had.
“Your grandmother begged me to go,” he said, paying
careful attention to my mouth, brushing the cloth softly
across my lips. “I didn’t want to interfere with your life,
Defiance, but she said you were in trouble. How could I not
go?”
“You mean with Wade Scott? In the woods?”
He nodded.
I took the towel and gave him the same careful attention,
patting the stubble on his face. Brushing it across his mouth.
He moved closer and the animal magnetism part of his
personality made so much more sense now.
“How is this possible?” I asked. “These things are myth.
Legend. Fabricated stories to scare children into obedience.
Yet everything I’ve been taught was not real is coming to life
before my eyes. How?”
“You were born of royal blood,” he said, as though that
explained everything.
“Let’s put me aside for a moment because you are much,
much more interesting.
His jaw flexed. He took back the towel, wrapped it around
his lean waist, and stepped around me. “I’m not nearly as
interesting as you might imagine.”
“I don’t know,” I said, following him. “You do shapeshift
into a wolf. That’s pretty freaking interesting. But what I’m
most interested right now is, how are you not the boy? Was
there another boy who looked exactly like the missing boy
just hanging out, hoping my magics would find him?”
Ink hopped onto the sink. Roane turned on the faucet, just
barely, so the adorably mangy cat could use it as his personal
water fountain.
“I saw the spell in my mind’s eye,” he explained. “The
symbol you drew, hot and bright and comforting.”
I leaned on the sink next to him.
“I was in the cabin with him. The boy. The real Roane. I’d
been caught in one of Huber’s traps. Of course, I didn’t know
that at the time. I didn’t know what it was or who’d set it. I
just knew I’d been trapped and was in tremendous pain.”
Alarm shot through me. I tried not to let it show. Not to
ruin the moment. He was opening up at last. I couldn’t let
this opportunity slip away. “Trapped how?”
He looked down and watched Ink lap at the water, but his
gaze slid past him. “Steel. The kind that snaps shut.”
I squeezed my lids together. “Like an animal trap?” Who
would put a child in an animal trap?
“You know how they say an animal will chew through its
leg to get out of one? I tried. But he found me before I could
manage it.”
 The world tilted as the image of him caught in a trap
formed in my mind, and then it hit me. “You were a wolf,” I
said. It was not a question.
“A cub. Huber didn’t care. He picked up the trap and
dragged me by my broken leg across rough terrain and
through ice-cold water to his cabin.”
I tried to keep my breathing steady. To show no reaction.
“He had lots of dead animals. Carcasses hanging in
various states of mutilation.”
The image, and the thought of him being there, blurred
the edges of my vision.
“But the boy was already dead when your magics found
the three of us. When they mistook me for him. I knew that I
was about to die, too, but when your warmth washed over
me, I realized I had a chance to survive. So I . . . I became
him.” He hit me with a feverish glint, as though pleading
with me to understand.
It pierced my heart.
“Huber was busy digging a grave for the boy, so I
scrambled under a cot. And he buried him, right in the
middle of the cabin. Right there beside me.”
He was lost in the story. I was horrified by it.
“Then he picked up the chain to the trap and tried to pull
me out from under the bed.”
Heartbroken.
“He didn’t know what I’d become and, thankfully, he
never found out. The police burst in. When they found me
hiding under the cot, they didn’t look any farther.”
Devastated.
“Your magics transformed me. Or allowed me to
transform. I don’t know. It just happened.”
My magics. I didn’t even know a transformation spell.
“So, when they found you, you were essentially a newborn.”
He lifted a shoulder in agreement.
 “Is that why you didn’t talk until you were seven?”
He shook his head. “I picked up the language fast enough.
Another byproduct of the magics would be my guess. I just
didn’t have anything to say. I only started talking when your
grandmother found me.”
“Ruthie?”
“I’d run away from home.” He ducked his head, a pink
hue blossoming on his cheeks, and I found it the most
endearing thing I’d ever seen. “From Roane’s home. His
mother’s adoration was a lot. She never knew I wasn’t really
her son. That he was buried and forgotten in her ex’s cabin.
Sometimes I just couldn’t take it. I had to get away.”
I wanted to wrap my arms around him, though I doubted
he’d appreciate that at the moment. “I understand that kind
of pressure. It’s not your fault that you needed space.”
“Your grandmother used a spell to find me, only she came
to get me herself. No one else. She told me she knew the
truth. She knew what I was.”
“She knew?” I straightened and pushed o the sink.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“I asked her not to. It’s a lot to take in. I didn’t . . . I’d
hoped you wouldn’t find out.”
“Why?”
He practically gawked at me. “Are you understanding
what I am?”
“I understand that you are the most amazing thing I’ve
ever met.”
If I knew the truth about him, it was only fair that he
knew the truth about me. I am a sucker for the underdog. I
cared about nothing else. He could’ve told me he was from
Krypton and I would’ve fallen, just like I was doing right
then and there.
“Wait,” I sobered and thought back. “You said three. You
said my magics found the three of you. Do you mean
Huber?”
He shook his head then gestured toward the cat that’d
apparently been really thirsty.
I gaped at him. “Ink? He was there, too?”
“Huber had in a cage. I don’t know if he was his pet or
what.”
I picked Ink up. Poor scraggly guy.
Roane rubbed under his chin. “He was the only other
creature alive in the cabin when your magics engulfed us.
They su used us both.” His gaze met mine. “Changed us
both.”
I lowered Ink onto the counter and did the math. Granted,
not my strongest area. “Roane, that was over forty years
ago.”
He nodded and ran a strong hand over the cat’s back. It
arched in response before he decided to swat the water with
his paw. “We’ve been through a lot together.”
“I’d say so.” I couldn’t get past one aspect of his story.
“When they found you, were you still in the trap?”
“I was.” He showed me his ankle, the mangled scars. The
straight lines where they’d clearly done surgery. “They
didn’t take the trap o until we got to the hospital for fear
an artery was severed.” He stopped and grinned at me. “It
was a long trip.”
“I’m so sorry, Roane. I mean, is that what you’ve
continued to go by?”
“Yes. In honor of my human mother. I went back, years
later, and dug up my brother’s bones.”
“Your brother?”
“Roane. The first Roane. I began seeing him as a brother.
As a member of my pack who didn’t make it.”
“I love that. It’s very . . . honorable.”
“I buried him with our mother when she died twenty
years later of cancer.” The loss stung. His eyes watered
despite his best e orts. “She was a good person. She
deserved to have her real son back.”
I ached to touch him. He was so close. So magnetic.
He tilted his head. “Have I lost you completely, Ms.
Dayne?”
I blinked back to reality. “Do you think I’m that easily
frightened, Mr. Wildes?”
My phone dinged. I reached down and dug it out of the
sweatpants I’d discarded on the floor. “Dinner’s here. Will
you join us?”
He withdrew immediately. “I’m okay.”
I got the feeling he was quite the loner. This could be a
tough sell. “Roane, please join us. I told my dads what you
did when my ex and the monster-in-law showed up. They’re
dying to meet you.”
He let out a sigh, looked down at the towel, and asked,
“Do I have to get dressed?”
“Not at all. Annette would probably appreciate it more if
you didn’t.” I knew I would.
I picked up the sweats and put them back on. When I
stood, I realized he’d been watching me in the mirror. So I
thought it only fair to watch him dress.
Then he dropped the towel and I took note of just how
gifted he truly was, I got flustered and hurried out to wait for
him in his living room.
I hadn’t even scratched the surface of all the questions I
had. What was it like to suddenly become human? How did
he learn our social norms? How did he and Ink find each
other again after the rescue?
So many questions, but I was staying. We were all staying.
We had time.
 SEVENTEEN

One day I was born.

Then everything bothered me.
And that brings us up to date.
-Defiance Dayne: A Memoir

Who knew my life could change so much after forty?

We had dinner and Roane, even reserved, was quite the
hit. Speaking of which, how did he master English better
than most native speakers? Did he have a language before
becoming human? Was there a secret wolf language?
I started making a list on my phone of all the questions I
had, because this was happening. I had a werewolf living in
my basement. What a strange week.
“We could’ve called it A&D Ointment,” Annette said from
beside me. We’d gone to bed late and yet we still couldn’t
sleep. Of course, I’d been asleep for two days. “You know,
because we’re like a salve for the soul. Annette and Defiance.
Unfortunately, it’s already taken.”
“Darn. Good one, though.” She was killing me, going on
and on about our business. What to call it. Should we get a
sign? The neighbors would love that. “Still, I’m thinking my
initial should come first.”
“You’re probably right,” she said, scrunching her nose in
thought.
“I like to think I am.”
“So, you were both wet when you came up to dinner.
Together. All wet and glowy.”
“I keep telling you, I forgot my shine-free powder.”
She turned onto her side and watched me as I studied
Ruthie’s journal and tried to ignore the fact that she’d
turned onto her side and was watching me.
“What?” I asked at last.
“Deets, baby. You can’t leave me hanging.”
I giggled. “Nothing happened.” I didn’t tell her about the
werewolf thing, and I wouldn’t until I had his permission.
“You were wet.”
I shrugged.
“He was wet.”
Another helpless shrug.
She set her jaw. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but I
will take matters into my own hands.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not afraid to be cruel.”
“Sounds kinky.”
“First, I will turn on the lights while you’re sleeping.”
“No,” I said with a gasp.
“Every night.”
“How will I survive?”
“I will eviscerate your biorhythm.”
“What has my biorhythm ever done to you?”
“Then—and remember, you’re practically forcing me to
do this—I will prank call all of the boys you had crushes on
in high school.”
 “All thirty-seven of them?” We went to a great school.
Our cup of hotties had runneth over.
“From your phone.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. You know I would.”
She would.
“There’s one thing we never got around to doing,” she
said, changing the subject.
“Playing with Dana’s wieners?”
“Four words.”
“Playing with Dana’s wieners,” I repeated, more insistent
that time.
“Explore the secret passageway.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” I didn’t. I thought about
that passageway every time I was in the shower. Naked. And
alone. I’d have to make sure the shelves locked from the
inside.
Annette’s voice grew softer. “This house is basically my
ideal heaven.”
“Dark and dreary?”
“Eclectic and bold and achingly beautiful.”
Couldn’t argue with that.
“I think I want to die here.”
“No.”
She had no comeback for that bit of stellar articulation.
Who could blame her?
Two minutes later, the girl who had way too much excited
energy to even consider sleeping was snoring softly into her
pillow. I thought about seeing what Ruthie was up to. We
didn’t get to talk much after dinner, and I had questions for
her, too. Oddly enough, they all centered on a certain hot
shapeshifter.
Instead, I focused on unlocking her book of shadows. It
was strange. I could only unlock certain words or phrases. I
couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done it that way on
purpose.
I finally became frustrated enough to reveal the entire
book in one fell swoop. No more of this page at a time crap.
The read was well worth the shock I’d received doing it.
It went back to the time when she met Percy. How
handsome he was. How dangerous. At least I knew my tastes
were inherited. Or maybe it was just a girl thing. The dream
of reforming a bad boy.
I skipped ahead to when I was born. Ruthie hadn’t
exaggerated. My birth caused something of a stir in the witch
community. As fun as it was to read about me, I wanted to
know more about my mother.
I skimmed Ruthie’s beautiful handwriting until I’d come
across my mother’s name: Pania Goode. Then I’d soak it up.
Her childhood. Her first spells. Her biggest mistakes. Her
greatest accomplishments.
According to Gigi, my mother was too much like her
father, Percy. She was the definition of a witch gone bad.
Partying. Sleeping around—gasp! Performing spells she had
no right performing.
Then I was born and everything changed. Either my
mother changed or Ruthie did. Either way, something was
di erent.
I’d wanted kids at one time, not that motherhood had
ever been my life’s goal.
Or had it? I’d practically begged Kyle. I was running low
on impregnable egg sacs, as I liked to call them. Mostly
because I was a romantic. He’d never wanted kids. I’d known
that going into the marriage. It was not my place to try to
change his mind and it was unfair for me to expect
something that hadn’t been part of the bargain. Then again,
he turned out to be a conniving dick, so . . .
 Now, however, it looked like it would never happen. There
was always adoption. I’d been adopted. Of course, who knew
if I’d be as lucky as my dads had been.
I giggled at my own joke—those two never stood a chance
—trying not to wake the beast beside me. Unless one had
co ee in one’s hand, one did everything in one’s power not
to wake the sleeping dragon. Wine worked, too.
The more I read, the more I realized what a handful my
mother was. Yet Ruthie’s love for the woman who bore me
shined through on every page.
Surprisingly, I turned to the last page in the book. I
figured there’d be more about my dads and how they met
and the adoption process, but it ended with one line that . . .
Odd.
It had a shape drawn over and over on the page. A spell.
And it looked like a child had drawn it. I realized it was the
spell Ruthie had drawn and asked me about earlier. The
reveal spell. The one that exposed the betrayal of a loved one
or a friend.
Ruthie had written over the drawings, and I struggled to
read it. After I managed it, I read it again. Thought about it.
Mulled it over. Read it a third time. And a fourth.
Then it hit me. Goose bumps sprouted over my skin and
my fingers itched to do a spell. I could see how spellcasting
could become addictive.
Anger slowly engulfed me. I tore the page out of the book
and went downstairs to where my laptop sat charging. The
more I thought about it, the clearer it became, until I stood
in front of the laptop, fury swirling around me.
Ruthie was conveniently absent. The entire screen was an
endless white.
“Ruthie!” I said, trying to get her attention.
She appeared as though out of a mist.
 “Is this true?” I asked, jutting the page toward the screen.
My fury was gaining mass. It caused my hair to stand on end.
She knew exactly what I was talking bout. “We can
discuss this when you’ve had some sleep.”
“No, we can’t.” And as though of their own accord, my
fingers drew a spell on the air and my palm pushed it into
the veil. It searched like a hunter in the night.
Percy shivered and Ink hissed then ran for cover. I could
hardly blame them. I’d lit up the entire kitchen with a spell I
could never have imagined existed.
Then Ruthie materialized before me in her cream-colored
dress. She whirled to face me. Patted herself. Stared at me,
her blue eyes huge. “Defiance—”
“Is it true?” I asked again over the cyclone now swirling
around us.
Her blond hair whipped about her face. Her dress flew
around her. “Defiance, how did you that?”
I stepped to her, my anger barely contained, and asked
one last time, “Is it true?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, yelling above the
wind.
Annette rushed in. My dads followed. And lastly, Roane.
The commotion must’ve woken them. Either that or Percy
did. Now Roane would get to see me at my worst.
Annette and my dads stood terrified. Roane was . . .
resigned.
I gaped at him. He knew. After all that talk about his
human mother, he knew the truth about mine.
“How many people have you killed?” I asked Ruthie over
the roar.
She lifted her chin a visible notch. “I’ve killed three men.
I told you.”
I practically growled at her and stepped closer. “That’s
not what I asked. How many people have you killed? Not
men. People.”
She lowered her head and the winds died down and she
said softly, “Four.”
I covered my mouth with a shaking hand and reread the
lines.
She’s gone. I had no choice. May the great goddess embrace
her soul.
“Ruthie, did you—” I stopped to swallow, my throat
having suddenly gone dry “—did you kill my mother?”
After an eternity of absolute silence, she raised her lashes,
and said softly, “Yes, Defiance. Yes, I did.”
 THANK YOU!!!

Thank you for reading BETWIXT: A PARANORMAL

WOMEN’S FICTION NOVEL (BETWIXT & BETWEEN BOOK 1).
We hope you enjoyed it! If you liked this book – or any of
Darynda’s other releases – please consider rating the book at
the online retailer of your choice. Your ratings and reviews
help other readers find new favorites, and of course there is
no better or more appreciated support for an author than
word of mouth recommendations from happy readers.
Thanks again for your interest in Darynda’s books!

If you liked BETWIXT, you are going to love the second

installment of Defiance’s story: BEWITCHED!

Forty-something Defiance Dayne only recently discovered

she comes from a long line of powerful witches. Added to
that was the teensy, infinitesimal fact that she is what’s
called a charmling. One of three on the entire planet. And
there are other witches who will stop at nothing to steal her
immense power, which would basically involve her
unfortunate and untimely death.

No one told her life after forty would mean having to learn
new lifeskills—such as how to dodge supernatural assassins
while casting from a moving vehicle—or that the sexiest
man alive would be living in her basement.

Whoever said life begins at forty was clearly a master of the

underappreciated and oft maligned understatement.

Darynda Jones
www.daryndajones.com
 ALSO BY DARYNDA JONES

Never miss a new book

from Darynda Jones!

Sign up for Darynda’s newsletter!

Be the first to get notified of new releases and be eligible for special
subscribers-only exclusive content and giveaways. Sign up today!

Also from DARYNDA JONES

(click to purchase)

PARANORMAL

BEWTIXT & BETWEEN

Betwixt
Bewitched
Beguiled

CHARLEY DAVIDSON SERIES

First Grave on the Right
For I have Sinned: A Charley Short Story
Second Grave on the Left
Third Grave Dead Ahead
Fourth Grave Beneath my Feet
Fifth Grave Past the Light
Sixth Grave on the Edge
Seventh Grave and No Body
Eight Grave After Dark
Brighter than the Sun: A Reyes Novella
The Dirt on Ninth Grave
 The Curse of Tenth Grave
Eleventh Grave in Moonlight
The Trouble with Twelfth Grave
Summoned to Thirteenth Grave
The Graveyard Shift: A Charley Novella

THE NEVERNEATH
A Lovely Drop
The Monster
Dust Devils: A Short Story of The NeverNeath

MYSTERY

SUNSHINE VICRAM SERIES

A Bad Day for Sunshine

YOUNG ADULT

DARKLIGHT SERIES
Death and the Girl Next Door
Death, Doom, and Detention
Death and the Girl he Loves

SHORT STORIES
Nancy: Dark Screams Volume Three
Sentry: Heroes of Phenomena: audiomachine
Apprentice
More Short Stories!
 PWF PAL PIMPING

Want more Paranormal Women’s Fiction? Check out Robyn Peterman’s IT’S A
WONDERFUL MIDLIFE CRISIS!

Whoever said life begins at forty must have been heavily medicated, drunk, or
delusional. 

Thirty-nine was a fantastic year. I was married to the man I loved. I had a body
that worked without creaking. My grandma, who raised me, was still healthy, and
life was pretty damned good. 
 
But as they say, all good things come to an end. I’d honestly love to know who
‘they’ are and rip them a new one.
  
One year later, I’m a widow. My joints are starting to ache. Gram is in the nursing
home, and dead people think my home is some kind of supernatural bed and
breakfast. Gluing body parts onto semi-transparent people has become a side job
—deceased people I’m not even sure are actually there. I think they need my
help, but since I don’t speak dead, we’re having a few issues. 
 
To add to the heap of trouble, there’s a new dangerously smokin’ hot lawyer at
the firm who won't stop giving me the eye. My BFF is 
thrilled with her new frozen face, thanks to her plastic surgeon, her alimony
check, and the miracle of Botox. And then there’s the little conundrum that I’m
becoming way too attached to my ghostly squatters… Like Cher, I'd like to turn
back time. Now.
 
No can do.  
 
Whatever. I have wine, good friends, and an industrial sized box of superglue.
What could possibly go wrong?
 
Everything, apparently.
 
All in all, it’s shaping up to be a wonderful midlife crisis…

BUY LINK

https://robynpeterman.com/its-a-wonderful-midlife-crisis/
 MORE PARANORMAL WOMEN’S
FICTION

Still need more Paranormal Women’s Fiction to tide you

over? You can check out more of the amazing authors in the
genre at:

www.paranormalwomensfiction.net

You will find fantastic books by my buddies; Robyn

Peterman, Mandy M. Roth, Michelle M. Pillow, Shannon
Mayer, K.F. Breene, Jana DeLeon, Denise Grover Swank, Eve
Langlais, Kristen Painter, Deanna Chase, Elizabeth Hunter
and Christine Bell!
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Most people believe writing is a solitary venture and, well,

much of it is. However, getting a book ready to be unleashed
upon an unsuspecting world is not. I must thank a few
people without whom this book would’ve sucked.
First, as always, my amazing assistants, Netters and
Dana. The lurves of my life. The sparkles of my eye. The
thumps of my heart.
The incredible talent behind the editing process, Trayce
Layne, who did hours of reading and research and
developmental editing, and Casey Harris-Parks at Heart Full
of Ink, who came through with flying colors in my hour of
need with a last-minute rush to the finish line. Thank you,
guys, so much!
Robyn Peterman who held my hand during this whole
process, as indie publishing is like a hostile planet onto
which I’ve crash-landed. I’m still getting my bearings,
dodging enemy fire, and learning the finer points of
formatting.
Joe and Jennifer Settle for answering my dumb questions.
(Yes, they actually exist. Dumb questions. Though Joe and
Jennifer exist, too.)
My beloved Grimlets, for the same reason. I hope your
opinion of me has not lessened. I really did have a literary
rationale for asking the things I did. Except for that one
question about chocolate covered strawberries. That was
purely personal.
To my amazing family for understanding why I walked
around with bloodshot eyes and zero sense of space and time
while writing this. You are everything.
And thank you so much to the Paranormal Women’s
Fiction group, the Fab 13, for allowing me admittance into
the coolest club around and the opportunity to share in this
great adventure. Without you, I would still be twiddling my
thumbs, saying to myself, “I should really try indie.” Thanks
for the push. And the support. You’re like a push-up bra
without the uncomfortable repercussions.
And thank you, dear reader, for choosing this book and
allowing Defiance, Annette, Ruthie, and Roane into your
lives. I hope you grow to love them as much as I do.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Darynda Jones has won
numerous awards for her work, including a prestigious RITA®, a Golden Heart®,
and a Daphne du Maurier, and her books have been translated into17 languages.
As a born storyteller, she grew up spinning tales of dashing damsels and heroes
in distress for any unfortunate soul who happened by. Darynda lives in the Land
of Enchantment, also known as New Mexico, with her husband and two beautiful
sons, the Mighty, Mighty Jones Boys.

Connect with Darynda online:

www.DaryndaJones.com